Promise Me Wild Roses
by Kisshulover1
Summary: Prince Tino was born a sickly child, destined to die. When he falls in love with the stable boy and his best friend Berwald, things could not be better. The two decide to Elope into the night-but something goes terribly wrong as fate tries to tear them apart! Rated M for reasons.
1. Not Fit

**I really should not be starting another story...But d_amn_ Swedish Folk music just gives me so many freaking ideas! Okay, well, this story is based off of a song/ballad by one of my favorite Swedish bands, _Garmarna. _It is a pretty recent song, and although I could not find much about it's historical features, it is a great Swedish Folk ballad!**

**The song is titled, _Herr Holkin_ 'Sir Holkin'. It is about a woman who loves a man dearly, but they can not be together by some twist of fate. So, the woman begs her handmaidens to help her tell Herr Holkin of her love for him, so that they may elope. One of the handmaidens agrees to ride during the night to tell Sir Holkin of her mistress's love for him. But—she is actually a wicked maid who wants to drive the two lovers apart...Well... I won't go into too much more detail, that would ruin the story! If you wish to 'read ahead' from this story, simply look up, '**Herr Holkin**' by **Garmarna**, for a wicked Swedish experience! Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie** and **Ruusu **for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! I do not own Hetalia! **

…**...**

The babies first cry was the first sign that something was severely wrong.

After the Midwives struggled for several minutes with the pregnant Queen, heaving with sour breath, they were finally able to push the small babe from the woman's strained body. By the time the tip of the babies head touched the warm and blackened air of the stoned walls, the nurses and handmaidens were already covered with sweat and pinching their swabbed scarfs over their mouths reverently. It was only when the young babes ears were shown from the mothers blood strewn flesh that their straining slender fingers were finally able to pull and coax the crown of the twisting babe from his mothers womb. The mother of the child could only scream and cry with unrestrained pain as her fingers dug painfully into her wide eyed husband's arms, her knotting hair frothing around her face, so dampened with sweat and tears.

The babe was cradled and wrapped loosely in a swab of ivory cloth, the strain and wear from his mother's eyes disappearing slowly, like water being drained from a cup. The husband, King of Finland, could only watch with soft blue eyes as his son was cradled up into the air, the baby still squirming his little head back and forth, his mouth not yet opened. Both parents were speechless with awe and love as they tiredly and fondly watched their new born son being held up into the crinkling light of the hall.

The first Midwife, a young woman with burnt brunette colored hair smiled with green eyes as she welcomed the young lad into the world. She held him up to her chest and did her best to coax him to open his mouth wide, letting in the warm and sour smelling air of the great Hall to flow through his lips and lungs.

The child was covered with sticky blood, as was to be expected. His pale body was painted a dull pink as his head lulled into the Hungarian's steadily breathing chest. His arms flailed and his lips puckered, eyes still closed with small white lashes, a bit of bloodied sinew clinging to the small rounding of hair atop his head that promised to be as blonde as his mothers when he was grown.

What was _not _to be expected was how small and fragile the body of the child was as it wriggled and grappled in the woman's gentle grip. The wet nurse, who was fondly called Elizabeta, focused her eyes on the babies protruding belly, the gentle curl of the umbilical cord sliding and withering around like a dead snake. Elizabeta took a sharp sigh of the smoky room that was burning brightly from the many amassed torches that shook with the howling of the wind.

She motioned with her had quickly to another nurse, a young Ukrainian girl no more than fourteen who shyly approached the wet nurse and the baby, her hands curled in on themselves from nervousness.

"Hurry now Katyusha, he has yet to breathe..." The Hungarian woman spoke quietly, her voice taking on a bit of worriment as she traced her fingers along the cheeks of the small baby, the color of his skin turning a bit blue. The brunette bit her lip in nervousness as the babe still would not open his eyes... _This child will die if he does not take a breath..._

Elizabeta thought with urgency as the young Ukrainian girl returned from the corner of the stoned mortared room with a small knife, the blade edged sharply, like the plume from a hawk. With shaking fingers the young short haired girl, with the assistance of the older woman, cut the umbilical cord with a low slither of the blade, the babe wriggling free as another wet nurse went to work with dispatching the unneeded fleshly cord.

The Hungarian then, with quick and trained fingers, went to work with the child. The young prince of Finland's cheeks were already taking of frighting blueish hue, like the flesh from a blueberry. Alarmed with fright the Hungarian quickly paced the swaddled and sickeningly quiet babe against her knee, bending him over till she gave his small little rump a quick slap. Still the babe was silent, chocking quietly from lack of air.

Elizabeta's eyes widened as she tried again, hitting the boy a bit harder on the rump—still he remained deadly silent. She swallowed thickly, fearing the worst. He palm smacked him again and again and still he would not cry or scream. Something was terribly wrong.

"Where is my child? Bring him to me..." The weak and fluttery voice of the Queen of Finland commanded, her eyes scanning over to the Hungarian woman who was running her hands quickly and haphazardly over the young babes chest, trying to feel a heart beat, a pulse—anything.

Elizabeta made a small noise in the back of her throat as she tried again and again to hit the child into crying, spitting, wailing—anything. Still he remained mockingly still. She was loosing him, slowly and surely, the Prince of Finland was suffocating.

Katyusha, sensing something was amidst, trotted over to her teacher's side, her shaking hands working as well to coax the baby into breathing. Katyusha began to loosen the babes swaddled, hoping to help his lungs to take in more air. As Elizabeta smacked his back with a dull thud, the Ukrainian girl began to pry his lips open with her fingers, her eyes beginning to sting with tears. The babe was not going to survive the winter night at this rate.

"I am sorry Ma'm... He does not take breath!" Elizabeta cried out desperately, the other wet nurses rushing to her side with warmed swatches of cloth and a small wooden switch used to swat children on their behinds when they did not behave.

"What do you mean he does not breathe!" The Queen shouted hysterically, sitting up from her bed, the covers around her frail and sweating body shifting like waves from a heated sea. The woman's violet eyes grew wide as she caught sight of her still baby, her hands flitting over her mouth as her lips wailed into cries. Next it was her husband to shout with alarm.

The King of Finland's voice was deep and booming, like a tidal wave that made all the handmaidens cringe with fear. The torches along the wall fluttered from the blinding and whirling snow outside, the King's voice being swallowed by the wild December winds.

"By all the Gods my son will live! I do not care if you must enchant him with the wickedness of _Gullveig_! He will live and he will be king! Do what you must!"* He growled out, his hands gripping his wife's frail ones as she cried on, her body twisting into the froth of flaxen blankets.

The King's tired and red rimmed eyes bore into Elizabeta as she nodded. She vowed to help the babe with quiet breath, her fingers straining against his frail body.

"Katyusha! Hurry and try to get his eyes to open!" The Hungarian woman shouted at the younger girl who was looking as if she might burst out into tears at any moment, the situation too much to even bare any more. Elizabeta clenched her teeth together and yanked the girl froward by her shoulders.

"Breathe into his eyes! Make them flutter child, lest this young lad die in the clutches of Hel!"* The Hungarian woman shouted out with heated breath, her words none to kind. The young Ukrainian, sobering herself with the hastily spoken words, nodded shakily before her fingers cupped against the babies fattened and blue tinted cheeks, his eyes curled closed. Carefully she began to blow, whispering encouraging words in Ukrainian to beg the child to live.

Once that was taken care of, Elizabeta then raised the switch made from the branches of the scared ash tree. She held it above her head and, her eyes stinging with tears, brought it down on the babes rump with a harsh _Slap_!

All was silent inside the small little birthing room. The wind had ceased to howl, the torches had ceased to crackle, the Hall had ceased to groan. The only flicker of a noise was the small, cooing noise of a tiny cry.

Elizabeta held her hands at her sides, the ash sapling dropping from her bone white fingers with a soft thud as it landed on the hay strewn floor. The candles blew and smoke slithered upward to the tapestry strewn walls as the Ukrainian girl, with one last blow to the child's snow white lashes, stepped backward, her eyes impossibly wide. Her breath quieted as she looked up to Elizabeta.

Suddenly, like a gift from the Gods above, the little eye lashes began to flutter and wrinkle before they slid open slowly, like a flower gazing up to the sun for the first time.

He had his mothers eyes. Like shinning amethyst they were, bright and innocent. Glassy, like the mirrored lakes when the stars embrace them in their touch. His chubby face began to fade back into a natural pinkish shade as his soft and rosy lipped mouth began to gasp and gulp. His hands grabbed at the warming air, the bitter cold from the snow storm outside not biting into his pale smooth skin yet. Elizabeta could only laugh quietly, her voice thick with sobs before she cradled the young boy to her breasts, the child cooing and squirming.

The Hungarian woman, with a smile on her face, lightly pressed the now swaddled babe into the arms of his mother. The Queen of Finland could only stared as her eyes widened, her lips that were once strewn into sadness, breathing a quick breath of delight.

The King of Finland was also pleased as he held his son's small hand against his palms, the babe wrapping his soft fingers around his fathers thumb. The King could only chuckle as the other hand began to root it's way into his fathers beard, smiling with bubbling innocence at the feel of the bristly mane.

The child's eyes became impossibly wide as they took in the bright sensation of the new world that enveloped him. A world of warmth, a world of cold. A world of dangers, a world of love. A world, of wild roses...

"What should we call him?" The King's wife choked out, her breathing becoming unreliable as she looked into the sweet face of her only son. The babe simply crooned and sniffed, his eyes gazing up at the warming and tear strewn faces of his parents, his violet eyes shimmering like bright jewels, worth more than any kingdom.

The King of Finland sighed softly as he placed his large hand over his son's brow, the babe sliding his eyes shut with gentleness as he pushed into the warming touch of his fathers hand.

"Tino is a fine name, a strong name." He murmured beneath his breath, his eyes trained lovingly on his new son. His wife smiled and nodded weakly, her arms curled around the babe with sweetness as he began to root his small and feeble hands into the blankets that surrounded him like a starry veil.

"Then that will be his name... Tino, Tino Väinämöinen."

The Prince of Finland, would live.

….

Or so they would have thought...

After the struggled birth of the Prince of Finland, the weary villagers could not but feel hope grow in their hearts. They anticipated with bated breath that the young Prince titled 'Tino' would live to take his fathers place on the throne when the old king took his long and final sleep into the land of the dead. Long had the country needed an heir to the throne when his father would pass into the next world, and on that bitter cold and snowing winter night, when the young Finn with the violet eyes like his mother had come into the world without a breath in his lungs—well, it alarmed everyone in the Kingdom of the Finns.

But, after much coaxing, the child had taken breath and his frail and pale body was filled with life to his parents desperate delight. There was not a more happier family in all the land of Finland. The birds sang everyday to the laughter and smiles of the three nobles. The sun shone brightly on the innocent face of the Prince and the stars at night twinkled with a lullaby just for Tino.

Tino's mother, resting from her time being in labor, would let Tino suckle from her breast as she stroked his pale and shining hair. She would often sing to him and cradle him in her arms like any loving mother would. Yet the winter was still heavy in the air and almost everyone within the great Halls of the Kingdom felt it seep into their bones and into their woolen tunics and leather boots. The unbearable winds raked against their coats and bit at their noses—resulting in most of the servants growing ill with cold or numbness. Many were sent home to their meager farms and halls to take to their sick bed—for no measure was too great in keeping the health of the Prince of Finland strong. His parents had already lost him once, they would not lose him again.

But the Gods were often cruel to the land of men, and they deemed it fit to try the spirits and sanity's of the happy and content monarchs of Finland.

One night, when the yellow and red winter sun had gone down in a blur of smokey purple and the moon was high above the trees, the young Prince of Finland began to wail and cough from his small sheep skinned crib at the foot of his parents bed.

It was not custom for the child to sleep in the same room as the parents, but the King and Queen of Finland were already greatly worried about their son's health. They made an exception, placing the ceder carved crib against the foot of the bed, wrapping the babe in seal furs each and every night to keep the chill off of him. Winter was not a good month for babies to be born, as the icy cold usually killed them within the first weeks of their lives. Many children did not grow into maturity, and Tino had already been cursed with a struggle filled birth... There was no telling if the child would even live to see his early teens...

But on that night, when the wind howled it's fiercest, like the hungry and snapping wolf Fenrir, the Queen of Finland was woken with a start as the walls of the monarchs bedroom began to ring with wails and cries, muffled and choking.* The wind howled outside and the snow drifted in sheets along the stone and wood cut window that was not framed by glass, but by shards of ice.

Lady Jaana woke first, the necklace's against her breast jingling and shuffling as her cold arms hugged her body to her. Her frock, knitted of warm wool, slithered as she sighed into the air. She had to admit, she did not like waking up in the middle of the night to feed the babe as much as she could—but the task must be done. She simply would not rely on handmaidens and wet nurses to feed her baby, no matter how convenient. Tino would not drink from a strangers breast, her son was too precious to her to be tainted by another woman's milk.

She was still very tired and weary from the birth of her son a few weeks ago, and her ears were not as quick as they once were before—but she could still hear the unmistakable muffled cries of her babe from his crib.

Tying her hair back with a bit of sinew, the woman shuffled her feet from under the heavy sheep skins and flaxen blankets to place her nimble feet on the straw strewn floor, the hay doing little to bite away the cold from the room. She plucked a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her slender shoulders like a shawl before she stumbled in the dark over to the wriggling babe. The blanket did nothing to still her shivering body.

She knelt down near the crib, her eyes tired as she scanned the wide eyed gaze of her babe, his glassy violet eyes shining from the light from the moon that shifted in from the open window. She thought she remembered closing the window with a scrap of leather and nail—apparently not...

She frowned and looked back to Tino who was still crying, his chest heaving up and down, his toothless mouth opened and gasping. Lady Jaana frowned as she scooped up her dear child into her arms, the baby squeaking with raspy breath as he cried, his body cold to the bone. Lady Jaana's eyes immediately widened as she held her baby to the warmth of her breast, her eyes darting around in the solid blackness of the bedroom chambers.

The wind howled along with the baby's persistent rasping and Lady Jaana could only hold the babe to her chest tighter as her eyes bit into tears, her thin lips wringing into a frown of despair.

Something was terribly wrong...

Quickly, with shuffling steps, she made her way to her husband's side of the bed, the King of Finland snoring lightly in his sleep, his beard muffling the noise some.

Queen Jaana bit her lip as she reached out with a pale hand, her bony fingers wringing themselves into her husband's tunic, shaking him slightly.

The King only mumbled in his sleep and licked his lips, his eyes remaining shut as he slept. The Queen began to grow more alarmed. No longer could she hear the babies cries, but him instead gasping for breath. She looked down at Tino, at his soft hair, and watched his cheeks grow blue. Tino was dying—her baby was dying!

With a low sob she grabbed a fist full of her husband's tunics and wrenched them up with her hands, her husbands eyes fluttering open as he rolled up from his side, eyes blinking in the darkness.

"Jaana, what is wrong my love?" The King asked out into the tangible darkness with grogginess. His eyes were watery and his mouth was slack as he yawned. It was only when he caught the wide and panicked look in his wife's eyes that he sat up suddenly, his hands at her arms.

"My dear! What is wrong! What torments you so?" King Mauno asked, his eyes concerned as they flicked over the bundle that was wheezing in his wife's arms. He swallowed thickly and blinked.

"Our—Our Son!" Jaana hiccuped, her voice on the brink of sobbing like a little child. Mauno looked up at the bundle. It was shaking and wriggling, as if the child was trying to get more air into his little lungs.

"Oh by the Gods!" The Finnish King whispered with strife as his eyes quivered over the sight of his slowly withering son. The babes head was lulling from his mothers arms, his violet eyes impossibly wide—like the winter moon.

The King immediately threw his blankets from his body and swung his feet onto the hay covered floor, his body aching from the cold of the opened window. He gritted his teeth and stood up in one quick movement, his back arching as he grabbed for his wife's arms, Jaana helping her aging husband to his feet.

The Finnish king, once finding his footing, quickly struggled to the heavy oaken doors that were guarded with heavy locks of iron. His fingers fumbled over the locks as his thick hands began to jumble the mess of iron, the locks clinking and clanking sickly.

The Queen, still rocking the babe in her arms, only fretted more as her husband struggled with the locks, the cracked window at her back, the cold and hurtful winds biting against her flesh, making her tears stain against her lovely face that was now contorted with grief.

Finally, with much struggle on King Mauno's part, the locks gave way and with a heavy groan, the door unfettered itself and pushed open, the slab of wood grating along the dirt floor of the longhouse.

Once free, the two nobles and their coughing and gasping son ran down the corridor, their heated yells for help catching the ears of the guards stationed in the hallway. Quickly, the Finnish guards blinked their eyes open and gave attention to the two noble's who, with heated breath, gasped a single name into the whispering Halls of the great Finnish Kingdom.

"Tino...Tino...Oh Dear Gods Tino..." Queen Jaana breathed and cried shamelessly, even the King's watery gaze sliding a few tears down his scarred and bristly cheeks.

…

A half and hour had passed as Elizabeta did her best to coax the child's lungs to open and his breathing to return to normal. She had pattered warm wet scraps of cloth to his chest, wrapped him in a steaming froth of heat and blankets, but still his body was bone chillingly cold, his cheeks growing paler by the moment. Elizabeta frowned as she tried to coax a warm dipper of milk past his lips—the child would not swallow. He only spit it up and wailed louder, his chest heaving up and down painfully, eyes sliding open and shut like the frantic fluttering of a moth's wings. Elizabeta sighed wiped her sweat drenched brow.

They had lit the high set cauldrons with a mass of flames, stuffing the iron pots to the brim with dried kindling. The cauldrons swung from heavy chains, the huge metal rimmed troughs bigger than any cauldron that brewed in the hall of the great God Aegir.*

The room was sweltering with heat as the fires swung from the air by weighty chains, as this as a man's arm, yet it did little to warm the pale body of the little Finn. Still the baby withered and cried, still his heart beat remained faint. Elizabeta frowned and pressed her fingers against his chest, the baby curling in on himself, his eyes struggling to stay open. He was a like a broken dove that had been left out in the cold for too long...

Elizabeta pulled her fingers back with sorrow as she sat on her knees above the baby, her head clasped into her hands. She began to sob and wipe her tears on her green frock, the baby making garbled noises into the smoky air of the room. There was nothing she could do for this child. He was choking on his own raspy breath, on the coldness from inside his lungs that spread like an icy web, stretching over his heart. He would be dead by the first roosters crow...

Elizabeta looked down at the cooing and wheezing babe that she had helped bring into the world. She looked down at his crown of soft glowing hair, his bright and sweet little eyes. She looked into that innocent face that had done the world no harm—and cried. For that was all she could do. The Crown of Finland would have no heir...

...

The King and Queen of Finland were nervously waiting outside the stone walls of the nursery. Their breathing hummed in their throats as they choked and sobbed. Their fingers twisted into each others as they promised with saddened looks in their yes that—not mater what happened—the Gods always had a plan. The land of men would suffer from the loss of the Prince of Finland, but they would go on... With time, they might be able to accept the thought of their son dying... But...Tonight, when they had only had the babe for a mere few weeks? It was unbearable for the King and Queen of Sweden. Rulers they were—but parents they were first. No amount of royal blood in their veins could stop the shameless tears from coming into their faces like heavy and icy drops of water.

The tapestries of great lions and birds flowed without purpose against the stone and thatched walls of the great Hall. The shuffling of feet moaned and groaned into the sadden silence of the air. The hall was dark save for the torches huddled round the regal bodies of the Queen and King, their guards at their sides. The cold air bit at everyone around them and entreated the sour air of the Hall to silence.

The hunting dogs, sensing that something was wrong, sat by the feet of their masters. King Mauno, too distraught to even pat the dogs on the head, settled for staring with watery blue eyes at the dirt laden floor. Everyone was dismal as they waited outside the small door. All the servants had taken off their leather hats and stood around the hallway, looking sullen and sad, the freshly lit torches blowing smoke in their already wet eyes.

It was only when the heavy door began to shift that everyone strained and stood up, their eyes finding purpose on the door with heavy glances. With a few hesitant seconds, Elizabeta, wearing a narrow and blank face, walked out from behind the door, her skirts ruffled, hands balled into tight fists that made her hands burn a bone white. Her eyes were red rimmed and pink as she walked over to the King. She did not speak, only motioned with a quick flick of her wrist for the mighty King of Finland to stand and come with her.

King Mauno swallowed thickly and looked to his wife. Queen Jaana's eyes were strewn with tears as she bit off a sob and wrapped her arms around the young Ukrainian handmaiden who was also crying, her eyes shining bright in the dimly lit hall. The young girl pressed The Queen to her bosom and gave her as much comfort as she could, trying her best to pull herself together with no avail.

After rising, King Mauno was led inside the blisteringly warm room that housed the little baby.

The Finnish King was relieved to hear the sounds of the babe crying, letting him know that his son was still in the world of men and not down below on the shores of the dead.

But, the Hungarian's face did nothing to bring hope to his eyes and he quietly sighed, walking stiffly over to the crib that held the gasping and shivering babe.

Tino's eyes had now twisted shut as he squirmed and opened his mouth like a gaping fish, his body twisting in several heat soaked wraps. Runes had been carved along the edges of his crib to help ease the illness, but not even the power of the Gods seemed to help the poor innocent child.*

"Will he die?" Mauno asked quietly, his words choking past his lips as he looked into the face of his little boy, his little Prince.

Elizabeta swallowed harshly, her eyes diverting against the Kings intent gaze. She looked to the babe and a sad and painful look crossed over her now tarnished green eyes.

"He will be dead by morning. Even if there was some miracle that he did live—his life would be filled with sickness and struggle." Elizabeta spoke quietly, bowing her head low to the King in this time of grief.

King Mauno sighed through gritted teeth and nodded, rubbing his eyes with his hands, his fingers shaking.

"Then there is only one thing to do..." He breathed out with regret, his voice suddenly taking on a stern tone as he placed his hands inside the ceder crib. Elizabeta's eyes widened as the Finnish King lifted up the babe in his arms and stared into those shut eyes, the lashes fluttering against the babes paled and bluish skin.

"My Lord—surely you would not—you couldn't! He is your _son_!" Elizabeta asked with disbelief as the King cradled the wriggling body of his son to his chest. The King's eyes began to grow cold as he looked down at the Hungarian.

"You are but a Midwife. How dare you lecture me—the King!" The King barked out viciously, his own grief taking over his usually cheery features. Elizabeta shrunk back, realizing that she had over stepped her boundaries. She quickly bowed in apologies to the grieving king before she bit her lip, her hands wringing around themselves behind her back.

"I am sorry my good King, I only meant that, well—perhaps a miracle could be preformed! There are many a wise women in the village, ones with power over spells and herbal knowledge. I am only a Midwife—I know nothing of the gift of magic...Perhaps, they may be allowed to help your son? Perhaps he will live?" She spoke softly, her eyes not daring to meet the King in the face.

King Mauno scowled.

"Even if he was to live, he'd be a sickly thing. I need no room in my throne for a sallow child, no matter if he is my son. The country deserves better..." He said with the inklings of regret as he hardened his jaw.

Then, with a quick movement he pierced his gaze to Elizabeta for a final time before he turned to the oaken door was the glowing from the flames in the heated room.

"Besides. You know this has been a tradition in our culture since the times of Old—when the Sea gave birth to the first Goddess who gave birth to the first man! It is a tradition that must be abide by... No matter how many hearts it pains. The child is not fit, therefore..."* King Mauno's voice dropped into silence as he looked down at his son. Those tiny little hands, those sweet little lips that were gasping for breath, that soft crown of hair as soft as a doves wings. He had to look into the face of his innocent and sick son and simply harden his gaze. The rule of a King could not be weak. A fathers love was no exception. He had to do what was best for the country, regardless of how it would tear his heart in two.

"...Therefore...The child must die..." His voice whispered into the crackling of the room as his gaze shifted back to the door. Without another word the King began to take heavy steps to the latches of the barricade, his other arm cradling the crying and coughing child who would not open his violet eyes. The King could not look down at the boy, for fear of breaking down into tears. This had to be done, for the good of the country. A sickly child was something not to be tolerated. It meant he could not function in society. If Tino grew up to be physically weak, he could not be able to take the throne. Invaders would come and steal the beautiful land of Finland one by one. Finland did not need the guidance of a sickly King. Tino would never take the throne—he just wouldn't have the strength to.

As King Mauno pushed open the doors, he was met by a throng of eager and watery eyes that bore into him with such intensity that he could only clench his jaws tighter together.

At the sight of the babe in his arms, the crowd visibly relaxed, their smiles returning. They thought the Grand King of the Finn's had come to show off the new attained health of his son. They thought Tino would live... They thought the young babe would live...

It was only Lady Jaana who looked up at her husband with wide and startled eyes, like a deer that had just been shot by an arrow, straight into it's heart. She let out a soft breath as she lightly craned her neck up to meet her husbands eyes. Her mouth slowly parted, eyes wild. She let a small moan of terror slip from her mouth.

"No..._No_...You can't...Not my baby...! Ei minu Vauva! _Not my baby!_"* She shrieked, her voice ringing in the halls as she tried to sit up with struggle, her arms extending to grab at her husband's cloak and night shirt. Katyusha and several other midwives and handmaidens had to grab at their mistress and hold her down as she shamelessly cried and yelled, her hair framing her small face as tears roared down her violet eyes—eyes so much like her sons.

The King frowned with sadness before he regained his composure and looked ahead of the corridor with sharp set eyes, his footsteps doing their best to free themselves from his wife's clawing. But Lady Jaana was fueled by distress and hysterics. She screamed at the top of her lungs, shouting insults at the Gods—at the spirits that were supposed to protect her babe. The spirits that had failed her. She shouted and she cursed the halls that rung around the property. She cursed it all and screamed from the top of her frail lungs before she could breathe no more—only being able to watch with a wrenched heart as her husband began to walk down the halls, down a throng of villagers who bent low to the ground, men with sorrow filled gaze, women with tears dirtying their faces.

King Mauno walked down the milled mass of people and pressed Tino closely to his heart, feeling the babe shudder again with a forced breath, his heart beat fluttering madly like a dying bird without wings.

"Oh Gods...My baby...My baby! Tino, Tino!" Lady Jaana called with howls of grief as her husband walked down the low lipped stairs of the long house, his eyes sliding shut with pain at his wife's maddening cry's. He gritted his teeth and stood outside the door to the Great Hall that marveled everything in the land of the Finn's. More beautiful than a throng of blossomed apple trees, more shinning than a fishes whitened belly, more grander than a bears great strength.

It was the Kingdom, the hall that King Mauno wanted to give to his son. But now... Now there was no hope for that. Tino would be left to die in the old ways of the Norse.* If he was not fit to live, then he was only fit to die.

Scowling slightly, King Mauno pressed his hands on the great and ornate locks of the hall that guarded his wife and he. He sighed with heavy breath as he pushed open the door, the wood grating with mocking.

The Finnish King closed his eyes tight as the sting of the winter winds beat against him unmercifully. The Snow and sleet cared nothing for the grieving man. They only wished to steal the very breath from his babes lungs—and King Mauno was going to let them do just that.

Bracing himself against the fierce Finnish snows, he trudged through the snow, his boots disappearing into the snow with sunken steps as he waded through the water like ice. He bit at his lips and held the child close to him, the baby crying desperately from the cold that invaded his already icy cheeks.

"I am sorry my son, but the Gods do not seem fit to hold you in the land of men no longer. I only hope the Goddess Hel takes pity on you, Prince of Finland..." Tino's father breathed out with sorrow as he neared the middle patch of snow that was drooping along the scattered branches of some ash trees. King Mauno, deciding that the shelter of the sacred trees might bring his son luck in the land beyond men, laid the child down along the crystal snow*

His breath scattered from his lips in puffs of smoky white as his chilled fingers began to dig into the snow, his hands cupping the shards of ice till his fingers began to bleed and run red.

After the little gorge in the snow was made, the King picked up his infant son once more before he stared into the closed eyes of the babe, the child stopping his crying, to cold to even shiver. The King, regret filling his heart, pressed his cold lips to the child's brow, kissing his son goodbye before he placed the tiny cold body into the snow.

The child wriggled in his swaddles and wrappings, his face staining blue and pink as he made soft whimpers and gasps for breaths.

"Anteeksi... Forgive me my son..."* King Mauno breathed into the chilly air before he dared stand up. He shook the snow from his shoulders and said a silent prayer for the sacred Ash trees to guard his son's body well, so that the wolves and ravens would not fell upon the babe and rip him open.

After that there was nothing left to say, nothing left to do. He would leave his son out to die. That was it.

The King sighed and, with pained step, made his way back into the glowing Hall. The hearth fires would do nothing to warm his icy heart now...

…**...**

**Ew, mention of live births! Poor Tino! What will happen to him! Do not worry, though the mean Dolphins want Tino to die, I won't let him...Maybe. But you must stick around to see if he lives! PLEASE REVIEW! I LIVE OFF OF THEMMMM! (This story is not going to be as descriptive as my others, simply because it's just a pain in the ass to write, but I will still make it enjoyable and entertaining. I promise!)**

**Authors Notes: **

-"By all the Gods my son will live! I do not care if you must enchant him with the wickedness of _Gullveig_! He will live and he will be king! Do what you must!"***-'Gullveig' was a Seer and an enchantress in Norse Mythology who was lustful for gold. She pitted the two groups of Norse Gods again teach other till they reduced the Walls of Asgard (home of the Gods) to ruins. She is not one to be trusted. **

-"Breathe into his eyes! Make them flutter child, lest this young lad die in the clutches of Hel!"***-'Hel' is the Norse version of Hel. I don't think there is a heaven unless you are a God or a Warrior. Other people just go to Hel. It was a dank and dark wet place guarded by the half rotting Goddess named Hel.**

-But on that night, when the wind howled it's fiercest, like the hungry and snapping wolf Fenrir, the Queen of Finland was woken with a start as the walls of the monarchs bedroom began to ring with wails and cries, muffled and choking.***-Fenrir was the son of Loki(The Trickster God who would later lead an army against the Gods at the end of the world.) Fenrir was a wolf and was bound by the Gods because they feared his strength. At the end of the world he will Swallow the Norse God Odin whole. **

-The cauldrons swung from heavy chains, the huge metal rimmed troughs bigger than any cauldron that brewed in the hall of the great God Aegir.* **-Aegir was the God of the Sea and, due to a promise, would entertain the Gods in his hall with huge cauldrons of Ale. **

-Runes had been carved along the edges of his crib to help ease the illness, but not even the power of the Gods seemed to help the poor innocent child.* **–'Runes' ****are an alphabet that was used most commonly in Norwegian and British history; they are still used today by Pagans everywhere, though they are mostly associated with the use of magic and diviniation now. **

-"Besides. You know this has been a tradition in our culture since the times of Old—when the Sea gave birth to the first Goddess who gave birth to the first man! It is a tradition that must be abide by... No matter how many hearts it pains. The child is not fit, therefore..."***- In Finnish Mythology, the ****Sky created a woman Goddess out of the waves and she became the skys daughter. She was imporegnated by the sea and, while she was in labor, a duck landed on her knee and laid eggs on her knee. The eggs grew so hot that the Goddess kicked her feet up and the eggs cracked and the shells became the land, the yolk became the sun. Then, her son sprang forth from her womb a grown man. His name was Väinämöinen, and he was the Finnish God-hero. That my freinds, is the Finnish creation myth. **

-"No..._No_...You can't...Not my baby...! Ei minu Vauva! _Not my baby!_"***- Rough translation is Rough. 'Ei minu Vauva!'='Not my baby!' in Finnish. **

-It was the Kingdom, the hall that King Mauno wanted to give to his son. But now... Now there was no hope for that. Tino would be left to die in the old ways of the Norse.***- THIS IS LEGIT SHIT RIGHT HERE. Viking's were know for being brutal and tough. When a child was born, at the age of five they would be groomed to work along side the adults. The girls would spend time with aunts and grandmothers, learning how to cook and take care of the home. The boys were sent to live with uncles and grandfathers and learned to fight, make weapons and boats, plant crops, and build homes. If a child appeard sick at birth, they were immediately left to die outside. The family could not afford to feed a sick child. It became more of a tradition and a way of weeding out the weak from the strong. (Though Finland technically didn't have a viking culture) **

-King Mauno, deciding that the shelter of the sacred trees might bring his son luck in the land beyond men, laid the child down along the crystal snow***-Ash trees were sacred in Norse Mythology, as the great tree Yggdrasil that held up the many worlds of Gods and men was a huge Ash tree.**

-"Anteeksi... Forgive me my son..."***-'Forgive me'-Finnish. HELLA ROUGH TRANSLATION.**


	2. Babe in the Snow

**Gah...This story has taken over my thought process. DAMN YOU SWEDISH FOLK MUSIC! This story is based off of a Song in Swedish called '**Herr Holkin**' by the Swedish band **Garmarna**. Look it up on Youtube for Prussia-Awesomenessssssssskeseseseses ( THOUGH IT PRETTY MUCH CONTAINS SPOILERS). The story will be a bit different from the song for a few chapters so bare with me. I DO NOT OWN HETALIA (if I did, Sweden would be naked allllll the time 3!) Thank you to my Awesome Swedish/Finnish translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie** and **Ruusu**! Much love to you beautiful Swede's and Finn's! **

**(Still looking for that Danish Translatorrrrrrrrrrr!)**

CHAPTERS WILL BE SHORTER! But will be updated faster :)

…**...**

"What do you suppose he's _doin'_?" A loud voice droned with a murmur from inside the snug and warm stable. The low roofing of the thatched barn was lit with the soft glowing from dripping candles that caked wax against the stale and sour smelling hay. The huddled stable boys were not permitted to light such fires in the stable—but they thought nothing of it, deciding that the little added light was worth getting a whipping from the kings guards.

The fine and short legged Icelandic ponies stabled in their stalls whinnied softly in an unheard answer to the Danish child whose red cheeks were pressed tightly to the glass for a better look of the Finnish Monarch that was carrying something in the snow, the old mans eyes looking so distraught that it made the little Danish boy named Mathias frown.

After pressing his nose against the crumbling and dirty glass of the small window in the snug and grand stable, the wild blonde haired boy pulled his frown into a tight and confused pout as he watched with glimmering eyes as the High King of Finland sat and wallowed in the snow like a damned fattened badger looking for a warm den to sleep in.

The boy whirled his head around then to suddenly face his companions, a silent blonde with chipped glasses, a dull eyed Norsemen with a bone clip in his hair, and a less desirable companion of the Norsemen's younger brother who had oddly silver hair and timid eyes.

"Perhaps he's rootin' round for some turnips...?" The small and silver haired brother to the Norwegian asked, his hands struggling to wrap themselves round his tunic covered knees and his stuffed Puffin keepsake.

The loud boy with an upturn of golden spun hair frowned and lowered his eyes to thin slits.

"First of all Björt—He's the King a' Finland. I don't think he'd be rootin' round the snow fer' some scraggly ol' turnips! Secondly—he was carrying somethin' that was crying. Turnips don't cry...Least I thought they didn't..." The young boy of eight placed his left hand on his red tunic covered hip, his other hand scratching the back of his golden flecked head as if he was deep in thought.

Did turnips talk? He didn't know... he guessed they could if you carved a mouth on them and some magic runes... Then it might talk. Suppose it spoke in turnip tongue? What if it spoke Danish! Did that mean that all Danish people were turnips? Then...did that make _him_ a turnip? Oh dear Gods! He hoped not!

The young Dane named Mathias shook his head fiercely, trying to dispel all thoughts of talking turnips from his witty needle sharp mind.

Talking vegetables were not important now! No—what _was_ important was to find out just what _was_ the King doing with a bundle that was crying it's little head off like a damn wobbler bird!

It sounded like an adventure, a mystery, something that consumed the shifty eyed Danish boy to no end. He would find out what the King was hiding, even if it cost him his life! Grinning from ear to ear he raised his gaze back to his companions.

"So, who wants to come with me to see what it is?" Mathias grinned, his hands on his hips as his shifty blue gaze flickered to every uninterested face in the stable. Björt stuck his tongue out and huffed, sinking his back into a low set clump of scratchy hay that all four boys slept in when the weather turned sour. Winter was the hardest for them all, as they were not permitted to sleep in a spare room in the grand Finnish Hall and they had little money to rent a room at an inn, so, the stable was the next best thing. They would often huddle close together for warmth and burn a bit of peat if it could be spared. It was the closets thing to home that they had.

_They were orphans, not of the Finnish blood—why should the cruel King take pity on them? They were not...__**Fit**__._

"Why should we go outside? It's so cold! Our noses will freeze off!" Björt whined as he snuggled his body deeper into the hay, like a little rabbit trying to make a warm nest for the winter. His hair rumpled and ruffled as stalks of dried bed grass clung to his dirty locks. They all had been refused a bath in the kitchen, and no one had the gall nor the courage to sneak a pale of hot water and a cloth from the cooks for fear of punishment.

Mathias growled, his eyes stern.

"Are ya' afraid, ya big dumb baby? It's just a little snow! For Odin's sake—yer from Iceland aren't ya?Ya should be used ta' a little blizzard!" Mathias barked out menacingly, making the little Icelandic child pout and rub his red rimmed eyes. Outside the 'little blizzard' wailed painfully, accompanied by a high pitched crying—almost like that of a lost soul.

"Mathias, don't pick on him—he is but a child." Nikolas, Björt's half brother murmured, his voice low with warning, cold blue eyes piercing into Mathias'. Björt sniffled as he allowed his elder brother to scoop him up into his embrace, the young Norwegian of six years combing his hands through the four year old's oddly snowy colored hair.

The Dane frowned but dissolved his glare, his lips still twisted into a pout that made his face look quite irritable. "We're all children! But that doesn't mean we shouldn't go out explorin'!" Mathias argued, his eyes lingering onto the heavy latches of the door that seemed to mock at him, begging him with jeering delight to press back the doors—to find an unknown secret about what was crying in the swaddle and cloth. He had to know...Oh he just had to know... It was in his very blood, calling out with unknown riches and spoils.

"Fine then. Since you two are content being children, Berwald and I will go out to investigate, right Waldy?" Mathias' face suddenly curled into a promising grin, his ruffled hair collecting the golden spirals of the lit candles. The smoke from the candles filled the chilly air with dull color, biting back the winds yapping and howling.

A young boy no more than six years old looked up at the loud mouthed Dane with a heavy and glaring face, his startling green eyes masking his emotions well, all except one emotion—annoyance.

"Dun' call m' that..." The rough speaking child growled, his numbingly cold hands weaving underneath his tunic to rest on his belly, hoping that his skin would give him some added warmth. Damn if Finnish winters weren't as cold as Hel's sickened breath...*

"Aw, come on Berwald! Lets go! If it's gold I'll share half of it with you? I promise on the God Njord himself!"* The Dane laughed with brightness, his hands covering his heart as if he was really giving a full fledged serious oath. Berwald shook his head with irritation, his frozen lips opening slightly to sigh.

"_Nej_. Dun' wanna."* He barked lowly, his eyes drifting back to his tummy. Ugh...he was so hungry...

But the Dane seemed to pat no heed to his younger yet more taller 'friend' as he began to grin and stomp around the stable—the dozing Icelandic ponies tossing their heads with skittish fright at all the noises the young lad was making.

Already the Dane's feet were taking Mathias over to a pile of wicker baskets and wooden crates that the four boys kept their rags and menial belongings in. A few toy swords, a bit a' scrap cloth to mend ripped tunics, some clay chess pieces with broken or chipped noses and heads, and even a few flatten pebbles that they had found last spring along the rivers of the palace when they took the sheep out to pasture.

Mathias scooped his numbingly cold hands into the wooden crates and, with a sharp tug, produced a woolen cloak, the seems almost ripped to shreds by moths and mice. But, it would keep the Danish boy warm, that he was sure of. Slinging it over his shoulders he wrapped it tight, as he had no broach to connect it with. When he was done with the itchy wrapping he turned to Berwald, a bright smile on his face, his hair whispering in the drafty wind that made everyone shiver in the cold and dismal stable.

The sharp haired blonde Swede only frowned deeper, his crudely made glasses stinging with gold as they collected the yellow softness of the candles flames—making his sea green eyes burn brighter.

He _was_ curious as to see what was outside, what the King of Finland himself was hiding out in the snow. But he was in no mood to investigate such a mystery with the loud and brash Dane. No thank you.

But with curiosity came questioning. What did not make sense to the young Swede of six winters was_ why_ the King was rummaging out in the snow? Shouldn't Lord Mauno and Lady Jaana be asleep, or rocking their babe in their contented arms? They did just have a child did they not? Berwald furrowed his brow. He was more than positive that the two royals had had a baby—a boy, with pale hair and violet eyes like the Queen. It was announced all around the villages, all throughout the kingdom. A young small babe crowned the Prince of Finland. Berwald's brows furrowed further, giving his child-like face the gaze of an ill tempered wolf.

He had no care for such a child. A child that would probably grow up to be a tyrant like his father, cruel and pompous, fickle and barbaric. The Finn's were stubborn. Too stubborn for Berwald's taste. They did not bow easily to the rule of Swede's nor to the rule of the Slav's. That alone made Berwald an enemy in this country, in this land. He was seen as a traitor to the Swede's and a disgrace to the Finn's.

He could not go back to Sweden, back to _Halland_, for fear of being questioned—for fear of being persecuted for living in the kingdom of the Finn's.*

Yet he could not show his face round the Hall of the Finn's as he pleased as well. It was by mere miracle on the part of the Gods that King Mauno did not lynch him were he stood—of course he had done no wrong. The king had took pity on his scrawny state and allowed him work in the stable—so long as he kept out of his sight. No, it was only his birthright that was the culprit, that Was the problem. He was a Swede. Finn's did not associate with Swede's.

Nikolas, Björt and Mathias were in no condition to brag about their currant standings as well—but at least they weren't born of the blood of _Svealand_.* At least they weren't hated by the Finnish crown.

Berwald had many a times over cursed his parents for leaving him here, for dying in a damned snow bank near the rivers edge—picking rose buds for food, the last of the harvest before the frost killed everything. Including his Mamma and Pappa.

They had slipped in the ice, grabbed at the roses thorny branches as they bobbed in the icy water till—not a single breath was heard. Berwald was left alone for hours, his toes freezing, eyes closed shut with ice until by some feat of the Gods, he was found by Nikolas, Bjort and Mathias. His only family. He was a frozen babe with sea green eyes and a crown of blonde hair. A bloody Swede.

Berwald gnashed his teeth together childishly as he wiped a tear away from his eyes that threatened to fall with rushing rage.

This was not his country. This was not his land.

Why should he be concerned about what the King was burying out deep in the snow, some secret, some scandal. Why should he be concerned about a sickly child inside the castles walls, about the Finnish crown, about the _Finnish Prince_...

But Before the young Swede could revel over about his great dislike for the Finnish monarchy, a certain loud mouthed Dane had jerked his hands over to Berwald's shoulders and yanked him up by his own ratty cloak.

Berwald let out a sudden 'oof!' as Mathias, with fire in his eyes, grinned wildly, yanking up the poor and deeply annoyed Swede from the hay. Within an instant Berwald let out a strong of curses that no young boy should learn yet until his late teens—and even then his anger rose. The Swede shoved away from the persistent Dane with a huff, only to have his legs get caught in an upturn of musty hay and spring him backward, his rump landing harshly against the graveled and wood chipped ground that was not fattened by hay. His hands, though not exposed to too much of the impact, stung more, his knuckles having knocked themselves against something smooth and worn. In an instant the dulled voice of the Norwegian, his eyes careful, lips moving slower than they should, spoke.

"Berwald, what is _that_?" Nikolas' voice was low but sharp, his blue and icy stare pinning Berwald on the spot where he half laid half sat in the mushy and half chilled hay. The Norwegian had o concern for Berwald's apparent spill onto the hay—No. Nikolas found only concern in what Berwald himself had fallen _on_.

"S'nothin'." Berwald quickly spoke, his hands moving on their own with a quick burst of speed to shove the floppy and dull brown object deep into the hay. His eyes tensed in the fire light as the Norwegian suddenly frowned, the loud Dane next to him now taking an interest in the turn of the conversation. Berwald gritted his teeth with fret.

"_Ja _Waldy, whatcha' got there? Is it food? A bit'a treasure?" The Dane asked, his body all but crawling over the piles of scratchy blankets and hay filled pillows that served at their sleeping mats. Berwald's hands immediately sprung into action, his fingers grabbing at the pouch like object—the battered dull look of it seeming to soften in the artificial light with a slow and sloppy sound as Berwald quickly tried to hide it further in the masses of hay. Mathias smiled quickly, a wolfish grin that meant a world of trouble for the young Swede.

In and instant, before Berwald had any say whatsoever, the Dane lunged like a loosened dog from it's fetters and snatched at the sack that flopped with some unknown liquid. The Danish boys grin widened as he inspected the object, finding it to be a worn water sack.

Berwald made a move to grab at the gourd but the Dane made a quick turn of his heel, cackling like he always did. Berwald growled as angry as the storm outside as he made a move to clip the Dane's body down with his stubby clawed fingers, his aim missing miserably.

Mathias' feet crunched against the hay as he back peddled his steps, his poorly covered ankle just a few feet from Berwald's clenched hands as the young Swede, with rising anger, began to crawl across the floor to grab at the Dane who was making his face heat and burn with wrath.

But Mathias would have none of it, and soon his legs, which were still shorter than Berwald's, even if it was by very little, swung the Dane over a pile of crudely stacked hay and onto a loose boarded rafter where the leftover mash and grain was sometimes stored so the rats could not reach it with their hungry hands.

Berwald, realizing that the Dane was too high for his little fingers to reach, began to rumble and shout, his rough voice erupting into Swedish and funny spoken English to flat out gibberish. All the while Mathias only hummed and inspected his spoils, his hands playing with the corded rope that held the leather water flask in place, the top being stopped shut by a bit of wax, no doubt applied by the clumsy hands of the young Swede.

Mathias' fingers ran over the fatten and squishy flask, the smooth and cold sensation of leather making him grin. He looked back to the huffing and growling little Swede with the sharp eyes before, with a wink, he hooked his fingers against a cotton string of knots to lift up the leather sack. Within an instant that the crude and hard wax was chipped off with dirty fingernails, a red liquid began to drip from the wax casing and onto his lap. The red liquid trickled down his fingers with persistence, melting away into his bright red tunic that had been ripe with holes and rips. The Dane licked his parched lips before he twisted the last of the wax that caked itself onto the metal rimmed gourd, his nose filling with the sweet fermented smell of wine.

Berwald made a clipped shout of a warning to the Dane before he heard the hay from behind him crackle and sway, his eyes shifting over to the young Norwegian who up until now had been oh-so-quiet.

Nikolas seemed to smell the liquor as well as he, with a quick flick of his head, stabbed his gaze against the Swede, his eyes blue and burning, like liquid flames that made Berwald halt. The Swede's mud caked and bruised hands squeezed a hand full of hay into his fingers, getting ready to throw the fist full of straw at the annoying Dane.

"Where did you get that?" The Norwegian hissed, his eyes narrowing against Berwald's. The young Swede of six winters lowered his head, his face blushing a shameful red as he did his best to look away from the Norwegians curious and suspicious glance.

"So, it's wine then?" Mathias cackled, his fingers finally chipping off the last of the wax from the water sack, a bit of red speckling his pale hands. Berwald growled low in his throat as the Dane, lifting up the sack, took a long drink from it, the liquid staining his lips red.

"Dun' drink it all!" He hissed with anger, trying to grab at the cotton strings that connected to the leather flask. Each time Berwald made a grab for it the Dane, with a cheerful and sinister grin, would yank up the string with a harsh tug, as if he was playing with a dumb cat. This, Berwald reasoned, was too much a blow to his pride.

"Where'd ya get it? Steal it from the kitchens did ya?" Mathias asked, his hands on his hips, his nose still a bright red from the cold that was still blistering outside with strife. The storm looked like it would not let up tonight, not for anything...

Again the cotton cloth went up and down, Berwald's fingers just out of reach each time the Dane lowered the string. With an angry red face the Swedish boy backed up with lingering steps.

"Didn't steal it!" He huffed with strife, his voice shaking as he tried to keep his pride. His fingers were balled into fists as he all but growled out the words with sliding venom.

The storm howled outside.

"I _m'de_ it..." He explained with clipped breath, his eyes dangerous as they glared up at the Dane who by now was swaying his feet back and forth from the low set rafter, his fingers idly working with the poor stitching that barely held the flask together.

"Then, you mean you stole the _ingredients_..." Nikolas' dulled voice reached Berwald's ears. The Swede took a quick spin of a look to the Norwegian, feel guilty and accused at the same time.

"Only th' bit a liquor! I got the water from th' creek and th' roses from th' forest! Took 'bout six month's 'a fermentin' ta' do it too!" Berwald protested, trying to protect his innocence as best as he could. The Swede's face grew flushed as the Norwegian only shook his head and seemed to mock the Swede, his hard eyes making Berwald feel more shameful, more guilty.

"You could get hanged for this, if _they_ knew. The King does not take kindly to thieves." Nikolas spoke slowly, warningly. His eyes were cold as he gave Berwald unfettered advice, the young Swede frowning solidly with his flush and red bitten lips.

"Dun' matter. King hates m' anyway. I'm a Swede—Finn's hate Swede's. 'S how it's always been." Berwald rumbled, his eyes peppering with a bit of icy tears, his cheeks stained a sickly red.

Nikolas immediately softened his eyes, his hands lifting from his waist to clutch as the Swede's shoulders in comfort when Berwald, with a hateful noise in the back of his throat, pushed away from the Norwegian, his sleeves wiping unrelentingly at his wet face and streaming nose.

Berwald, not really sure what to do, but realizing that he really did not want to be cooped up in this damned stable any longer, ripped a woolen horse blanket from the rafter and wrapped the thick and scratchy material round his shoulders, the blanket smelling like sweat and horses—but he didn't care. He couldn't care.

He faintly heard the rushed apologies that burst from Mathias' mouth as Berwald, with a great deal of struggling, pushed the grand and thick slabs of the stable doors open, the snow from outside piled high and thick, making the young boy suck the cool air into his mouth and down his throat, his eyes stinging.

He looked behind him and saw Mathias step down form the rafters in an attempt to catch up with Berwald, but the Swedish boy would have none of it. Instead, with fumbling legs that stuck to the ground, he shoveled his way out the door and into the frothing coolness.

The wind ripped at his hair and tugged at his tunics as the snow sucked his feet under. Berwald swallowed thick in his throat as he pushed onward. He knew there were eaves by the palace, strong sturdy walls flanked by thick fir trees. That would be a nice place to sleep tonight—granted he might wake up with frozen blue toes!

"Not l'ke it matters..." he mumbled out sourly. So what if he woke up, blue and icy, covered with snow. So what if he didn't wake up at all. It's not like he had a bigger destiny—a fate that could compare to that of the Gods. He had been told to believe in fate, to be the best person he could be. He was told to believe that everything happened for a reason. Berwald frowned his heated anger, his tears biting back again.

"What fate is th's then? Why was I brough 'er. Ta' be mocked?" He growled out, the wind carrying his voice over a snow white copse of Ash trees, the huddled branches eerie and skeletal as they combed and cracked in the wind, a soft knoll and bump in the middle of the snow—a currant of white.

His glare grew stronger as he stared at those trees. Those holy branches, rough flaking back, long roots that were supposed to hold up the world of men, giant and Gods. But Berwald knew the roots were dead, the Ash trees all asleep in the land of Hel, only their groaning dirges being heard.

Berwald looked down at his feet, his boots covered with snow, the leather doing very little to keep his chilled toes warm. With a soft turn of his head and a slow sigh the Swede looked back to the badly lit stable, the warmth of the musty hay looking more appetizing by the second.

Feeling as if his anger had cooled some by the winds breezing storm, the Swede, with a shuffle of his feet, made a move to turn away from the the flanks of Ash trees, the wind calling to him from behind.

_Wha...unf...mnnf!_

Berwald's eyes widened as he turned his head around quickly, his now blue turning fingers clutching at his blanket more securely.

_Coo...mnnn..._

Berwald swallowed harshly, hearing the noise again, the voice that was not the wind, nor the trees, not the ravens nor the misty Trolls asleep in their caves. No, it sounded human, innocent almost.

With a deep breath that burned his throat all the way down to his lungs, the Swede of six winters set off towards the noise, the skeletal Ash trees beckoning him, guiding him with boney hands to the treasure that they cradled so soundly.

His hands brushed and crawled as he wedged himself into the copse of the trees, the thing branches scratching at his face with stinging hisses. He narrowed his eyes tightly with pain as he closed in on the sound, the muffled noises sounding like that of a sick animal, of a sick little thing.

Fearing for a mere moment that it might be a tricky fairy, Berwald comforted himself with the knowledge that faeries could not stand such temperatures such as these. No, his life was in no danger, least, that's what he hoped.

Onward his hands clawed until, with forced breath and icy sweat dripping from his face, he sat himself upright into the very middle of the swaddle of trees, where, to his widened shock, stirred a bundled of cloth, of pale face and blue cheeks, of small gripping hands and pink lips.

Under the mass of white, the icy snow flakes that dotted his face, curled the small and fragile body of a young child near death. The child crooned and cried with forced breath, his toothless mouth making loud shill noises that made Berwald blink and swerve his head in the snow.

What was this? A Trick? Did a Troll leave her baby here—perhaps a nymph's child?

Berwald swallowed hard, his clumsy hands working to dig the child out of the snow that had shelled around him. The babe twisted with pain as he was cradled to the Swede's chest, his icy shut eyes doing their best to flutter open.

With soft breath that steamed a dull white the Swede, stripping himself of the thick horse blanket, wrapped it snugly round the little babe with the soft blonde hair so much fairer than his own. He had to save this child, every person had the right to live, to prosper. Berwald would not let this babe meet his undoing.

Then, with a bit of a staggering step, the Swede, carrying his precious cargo, made his way back to the warmth of the stable, his heart pressed soundly near the small child's own, his warm breath beating over the crown of the childs head as the babe, with a bit of a stirring noise, opened his eyes.

Pale violet eyes that gleamed brighter than the moon.

Berwald, looking back down at the child snug in his arms, gasped with amazement. It couldn't be. No. His mind was playing tricks on him. Berwald could not even entertain the thought that—that this babe—this sallow thing could be—could be...

This child, this child with silvery blonde hair, full rosy cheeks and bright violet eyes...He could only be...

The Prince of Finland.

…...

**Ughhhh. I am dead. Okay, well, I hoped you liked the second chapter! Please review of the Dolphins will eat mehhhhhh!**

**Authors Notes: **

-Damn if Finnish winters weren't as cold as Hel's sickened breath...***-'Hel' in Norse Mythology was a cold and damp pace ruled by the Goddess 'Hel'. **

-"Aw, come on Berwald! Lets go! If it's gold I'll share half of it with you? I promise on the God Njord himself!"*** -'Njord' was a main fertility God in Norse mythology who was called to witness oaths. **

-"_Nej_. Dun' wanna."***-'No' in Swedish**

-He could not go back to Sweden, back to _Halland_, for fear of being questioned—for fear of being persecuted for living in the kingdom of the Finn's.***- Halland' Province in Sweden. **

-Nikolas, Björt and Mathias were in no condition to brag about their currant standings as well—but at least they weren't born of the blood of _Svealand_.***-'Sevealand' One of the three states in Sweden. **


	3. The Drink of Roses

**Here is the third chapter! Perfectly fitted since it's pretty much snowing outside the itty bitty little cabin that I'm writing this in! **I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or it's characters!** I'd like to thank my lovely Swedish/Finish/Russian translators, **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, and **Kooliobutterflyhahaha!.**Thank you so much guys! 3 I love you lots! Now, the Plot of this story is based off of the song, '**Herr Holkin**' by the Swedish Folk band **Garmarna**. If you want spoilers, listen to the song lyrics if you don't want spoilers, listen to the song **without** the lyrics—but well. If you can understand Swedish, well. You're getting the spoilers either way! ^^" PLEASE REVIEW OR ELSE THE DOLHPINS WILL RUN OFF WITH MAH SPLEEN!**

…**...**

His feet were numb by the time his little fingers, still clutching his precious cargo to his chest, slammed the stable door open with a loud _bang_! The eaves of hay began to shake as dust was dispersed throughout the stables, the frightful noise waking up the inhabitants. Human and horse began to shake asleep with yawns and stamps of hands and hooves. Yet, when the dust cleared, so did the annoyed tempers at being woken up from a much needed rest.

It was Nikolas' eyes that widened first, the blue slates of his gaze catching the rough bundle between the Swede's arms, Berwald himself looking absolutely shell shocked beyond belief. In a flash, the young Norwegian raised himself with his hands, his tunics covered with stitching's of hay, smudges of either dirt or lack of sleep present under his ice blue eyes.

"Berwald...Berwald, what is that? What is it that you have in your hands?" Nikolas spoke, his voice flustered with fear as he scrambled toward the Swede who had finally taken his first steps into the mild warmth of the stables, the Icelandic ponies round him began to crane their necks towards his straw like hair to take a nip—yet Berwald was steady on his course, his mouth held tight. Nikolas, fearing that his friend had come into contact with a menacing snow sprite who had somehow bewitched him, quickly trotted over to his friend, Mathias by now realizing something was wrong as well.

"What's he got, Norge? Some food?" Mathias asked, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes to dispel the few flakes of sleep that still clung dearly to the Danish boys eyes.

But Nikolas was too busy with trying to get Berwald to talk, to blink to _breathe_. The Norwegians now cold and white hands were gripped tightly to Berwalds' forearms, the Swedish boys fingers gnarled like tree roots as they hugged the shivering blanket to his chest. Nikolas' face began to drain of all color as, whispering kind words like one would to a deaf dog, began to lead Berwald to a few flame lit candles, Nikolas hoping that the little warmth would help to melt his friends stern and awfully fearful silent state.

"What's a'matter Waldy? Run into a Troll or something?" Mathias asked, kneeling down before his supposed friend, Berwald doing his best to not lunge at the Danish boy with all his might and throw him to the ground like he damn well deserved. But now was not the time for seeking revenge—now was the time to focus. Focus on this cryptic gift, this chance in a life time—this glorious find.

Berwald was sure this was part of his fate—part of his destiny. For, who else but him, a lone young lad, angry with petty strife, walking through the snow misted meadows, happen upon a babe in the ice? And not just any babe, but a _Prince_. And not just any Prince, but the _Prince of Finland_. Berwald suddenly shivered, reminding himself that this blessing could very well become a danger in disguise.

For then again, who was he, a lonely boy, outside of his own country, his own kinsman, to stumble upon the Prince of Finland and do what? What _did_ he do? The King has obviously set his son to die within the perfect crystals of snow—simply because of what? Because the child appeared to be faulty? Because he whined a bit too much, cried a bit more then was normal, coughed more raggedly then other children did? Coughed more raggedly...coughed...Oh Dear Gods! He was ill! The Prince was sick—was—he could even be on the verge of death's stony clutches!

At this struck of realization, Berwald, who until this time had been ignoring Nikolas' protests and patience in trying to loosen Berwalds' claw like hands from the bundle, opened his eyes wide. A moment to breathe, to fill up his lungs before he could think, yell, scream. A moment to realize what had to be done.

"Berwald? Berwald...? Are you alright? Berwald!" Nikolas' voice's was not rising above a smooth and collective whisper, becoming more and more frantic with every blink of Berwalds' eyes until the Norwegian could take it no longer. With a thrust of his hands he balled his hands into the Swede's mice bitten tunic and gnashed his teeth together, Nikolas always the scary one when angry.

"Berwald! Berwald—I need to know what is going on! Let me help you! Please!" Nikolas begged, his fingers being pulled away by Mathias, a worried look in the Danes eyes. Björt had come to the small haphazard circle the three boys were now making next to the wax clotting candles, the smoke billowing up, making it much more easier to shed tears than it should have.

"Is he possessed—A Trolls Magic perhaps? Maybe he'll turn into a turnip!" Mathias cackled, his worried voice being crushed under foot with his simple laughter—that is, before he was none too lightly punched in the arm by Nikolas, and angry scowl on the Norwegians face.

"'Tis no work of a Troll—No. I fear he has seen something, he knows something..." Nikolas murmured, eying his Swedish friend who was now coming too, eyes looking less dead and misty ,less like a flopping fish on the banks.

With a forced swallow of his throat, Berwalds' lips began to produce words without his telling them to, his eyes blinking back weariness and fear before he quickly shook his head, snapping his neck to the right to look Nikolas in the eyes dead on.

"Aye. I know somethin', somethin' a' great import'nce..." He mumbled, the snow storm outside muffling his voice some.

"An' what is it that ye' know?" Mathias asked suddenly, his eyes thrown into thin slits as he too began to eye the clutched bundle in the Swede's arms.

"He's dyin'—th' Finnish Prince is dyin'!" Berwald suddenly sounded out, his fingers loosening some from the parcel in his lap.

Nikolas frowned then, his brows knitted to show confusion. He brought his cold little hands to rest themselves on Berwalds' shoulders, the Swede suddenly clenching back on the bundle in his hands that now began to shake more frantically.

"Berwald, the Prince of Finland is not _dying_—he is dead. We all know this." Nikolas spoke carefully, calmly, the bundle in the sweaty blanket beginning to wriggle and squirm, alarming the Norwegian to no end.

"What's he got there?" Björt asked with a twitch of his nose, his hands trying to run themselves over the collection of itchy wool.

Berwald swallowed harshly then, releasing his hold altogether on the blanketed thing, the creature that surely must be alive since the blanket wriggled like a fish caught in a fishers reel.

The blanket massed at Berwalds' feet began to unravel as the creature lightly slipped from the blanket to rest in the hay, it's crying little self catching an array of eyes—making them widen with disbelief and sudden fear.

"A Troll's baby!" Mathias hollered with a whoop, his eyes bright.

Berwald suddenly frowned as his eyes grew stern, his hands reaching out for the child, wrapping him quickly back up in the corners of the thick and weighty blanket that smelled of horse hair and leather.

"Tis no Trolls' kin! It's is a Finn! A mortal child!" Berwald half shouted, now weary of even showing his find off, his concern for the child now driven by jealousy and obsessiveness. How dare Mathias compare this beautiful and innocent child to that of a donkey eared Troll! It was a crime against all things good in this world! Why—this child was as sweet and fair as the wild roses that grew near the rocks and fields. He could certainly not be compared to that of a Troll!

"Aye, he be mortal alright, by the Gods he has no time left in his little heart—look at tha' way he squirms! Seems ta' me he might have the colic!" Mathias spoke, his words none the less pitiable, able to give Berwald some relief from his grief.

Yet it was Nikolas who spoke next, shooing Mathias from near the child's side, fluttering his hands above the little babes head, the infants eyes not yet ready to open nor his mouth able to make a fitting cry to the stillness of the stable.

"It is not colic that fits this child with pain—perhaps the cold was not good to him—we need to do our best to help such a poor thing." Nikolas mumbled, stripping the child of the sweaty horse blanket and replacing it with a good thick layer of scarfs and a few tattered remains of what once was a lovely white shawl. Berwald, like a mother hen holding for dear life to her baby, would only let Nikolas go so far as to touch the child lightly before his voice began to choke, his eyes stinging.

"This child, it was not th' cold a' winter that first ailed 'em—though it now worsens 'em un'doubt'dly." Berwald murmured, hugging the child close, the baby beginning to hum with a wheezing noise through his nose, his eyes remaining shut as tight as a clam awaiting the threat of an ocean storm.

"Then what is it that harms him? A sickness of fever?" Nikolas asked frantically, his hands working to root around the beds of straw beneath a low wooden crate, half of the wood having been splintered off last summer when Mathias threw a tantrum and kicked it into a wall.

But that did not matter now, Nikolas reminded himself as his fingers began to grab at the lip of something iron and smooth—a small little finger bowl that had fallen into their possession many months ago.

With barely even a breath in his lungs, Nikolas began to bark out orders, his hands working to scrape the gathered dust from the bowl as he instructed Björt and Mathias to find something to drink—water, milk, ale—anything, so long as it wasn't honey. For that could kill the young unknown lad.

Berwald himself was given the job of trying to get the baby to open his mouth, cooing in Swedish before resorting to broken Finnish, trying his best to get the babe to open his damned mouth—to live, to breathe!

"How do ya' know he's Finnish?" Mathias asked Berwald as he crawled over to the Swede, his eyes sparkling.

"How do ya' know he understands ya'?" Mathias asked again, pouring his spoils—a bit of goats milk that he had placed outside the snow eaves to keep chill in the ice—into the iron bowl. (He was going to offer the milk to Nikolas as a sign of his adolescent love for the young Norwegian but _nooo_! He had to give it to some snotty little brat who Waldy just happened to find. Terrific!)

Berwald suddenly frowned, liking the Danes company less and less. "I _know_ he's Finnish..." _Because he's the Heir to the Finnish throne..._ Berwald mumbled insistently, his breath hot and annoyed as Mathias only rolled his eyes and glared at the Swede.

He helped to raise the child's squirming and crooning head up as Nikolas took the bowl of milk from the Dane and began to guide it to the lips of the child, his little pink lips pursed, the milk dribbling down his blue tinted cheeks.

"He will not take milk..." Nikolas bit his lip into worry, his hands carefully cleaning the child's face of the cooled milk. Berwald himself frowned as well, is fear making a turn for the worse. What I this child died in his arms? What if this innocence, this beauty was erased from the world forever simply because Berwald was unable to take care of him—the future Prince of Finland.

It was at that moment that Berwald, who was born a Swede, lived a Swede, and would die a Swede made a silent vow. No matter how badly he was mistreated by the Finn's, no matter how much he hated the Finnish monarchy with a passion that only a six year old child could understand, no matter how many times he had suffered under the rule of King Mauno—He would not let the Prince die. He would rather be thrown into a trench filled with endless rose thorns than betray this child to death—this child that he did not even know the name of. This child, that he vowed to love and protect more than anything else in the world.

"He's not been weaned yet—that is known from his age. Poor little thing, I wonder if he had a wet nurse...We have no more milk for him and there are no breeding mares in the stable in the dead of winter to be milked..."* Nikolas mumbled off, his voice becoming a thin tremor, his tired hands becoming more useless as he tried to bring this child back to life.

"A child born in the dead of winter who has no teeth to chew bread—he shall be dead within the hour..." Mathias muttered softly, sadly, his hands balled into loose fists at his sides, bowl left on the straw, empty of the white milk that they all thought could give the child even a bit of strength.

"Well, Well...We'll just 'ave ta' try harder is all!" Berwalds voice suddenly rumbled, his fingers heaving the child to sit upright in his swatches, the babe curling in on himself, the crown of blonde hair of his head faint and soft to the touch—when the child is grown it would be as white as the Northern snows...

"Why is this sickly little thing so important to you? He is just an unknown child, left out in the snow to die because he was unfit! Why should we care?" Mathias suddenly barked out, his childishness swelling from within his belly to rest against his heart, making his emotions grow more irritable by the second.

"Because!" Berwald suddenly roared, his eyes fierce, his voice causing the babe in his arms to tremble sightly before silently coughing again, his mouth opening some.

"Because why?" Mathias shouted back, his eyes like blue pools of fire, hands clenched into fists at his sides, teeth gnashed.

"Because we 'ere misfits too! We 'ere once called weak, ugly, sallow, worthless! We 'ere left ta' fend fer ourselves—we 'ere left ta' die! But we raised each other up an' we stayed alive an' together. He deserves th' same..." Berwalds' voice, shifting from a thunderclap to the gentle sound of rain, felt his face turn red, his eyes rimmed with water. Björt too began to cry, Nikolas wiping his eyes as well, trying to keep himself busy by patting the babes cheeks with his fingers.

"Then, he is one of us now..." Mathias mumbled softly, his brows knitted, knuckles white as the anger from before began to melt off his shoulders in rolling waves.

"Aye, that he is." Berwald agreed, looking down at the child that was slowly crooning in his arms, his mouth opening some. Berwald, eyes blinking, looked up to Nikolas.

"He—He open'd 'is mouth! _He open'd 'is mouth_!" Berwald shouted, a frantic smile on his usually guarded face. Nikolas smiled weakly before his eyes grew sad.

"Berwald, I have nothing more to give him. The milk is gone and the bread that we do have he will not be able to swallow—unless you have something else, I can do nothing for him-" But Nikolas' consoling words were cut off by Berwalds' delirious breath, his cheeks flushed red as his words slew from his mouth in a frenzy.

"Th' wine! Get th' wine!" He shouted with elation, his hands cupping the child up to rest on his knee, the movement causing the baby to suddenly wail out with a shriek, surprising all of them, including the horses whose ears were twitching madly at all the wild fuss that was going on.

"Aye—Aye the wine!" Nikolas shouted, his breath coming up with light nervous chuckles, his shoulders shaking as the babe began to fidget and cry aloud, a sound that was so shrill yet so welcomed it made everyone cling to a few shreds of hope.

"Björt! Kindle the candles together, let them huddle round each other like a hen atop her nest! Mathias, root round for the wine!" Nikolas barked out, his hands working to fling the droplets of the goats milk that still clung to the dish away. Meanwhile Björt, with all the carefulness of a four year old, was pushing the small almost burned out white candles together in a small sloppy filled circle of flame, Berwald all the while patting the child's back, making the child cry more—which in turn delighted the Swede more. Crying was good, crying meant air in lungs and a beating heart. He would have to apologize to the child later for making him cry, but right now that was not the issue at hand, no, keeping the sallow child alive was.

Mathias soon came jogging back to the small circle that had amassed themselves between the banks of stable hay, the Danes hands juggling the goat hide wine sack.

With a thrust of his hand the Dane began to carefully drip the liquid into the iron bowl which was being held by two hands by Nikolas who was sloshing it around carefully by smoothly turning his wrists. After a good half of the wine had been dumped into the small finger bowl, Nikolas placed the iron over the flame, watching the smoke from the candle turn the already dark metal a deep black, black as night.

All the while Berwald waited patiently, his hands rubbing smooth patterns along the babes back, the baby wailing, his toothless little mouth in the shape of a meowing kitten.

Soon, with the help of some added straw to the mix, the candles flame had warmed the wine, the liquid not too hot but not too cold, perfect for reviving a child.

"What, what if we kill 'em!" Björt suddenly wailed, his hands in his mouth, his little teeth chewing on his fingers with fright.

"Then he dies—he is probably a peasant's son anyway. It's good to try, but even we cannot perform miracles... I doubt he'll be missed much anyway..." Mathias mumbled as he helped steady the sloshing mixture, his teeth biting against his lip as he lowered the iron dish to the babes open mouth like a young fawn being coaxed to take his fist sips of his mothers milk.

"He will be missed..." Berwald spoke, his words clear if not a bit shaky from sudden fear.

Nikolas sighed as he pushed the lip of the finger bowl to the child's lips, all the while the infant scrunching up his lips and turning his head this way and that away from the bowl.

"I know you feel bad Berwald, but you will soon forget about him if we cannot aid him, it's best not to think about the dead with regret..." Nikolas mumbled before he gave out a frustrated sigh.

"Damn child will not drink!" He growled, his fingers burning slightly from the bowls heated bottom.

Berwald bit his cheek nervously, his hands still holding the child up.

"He will be m'ssed, not only by me...He...He is no peasants son..." Berwald murmured. His words quieting Nikolas and Mathias, their faces puzzled.

"Then is he the son of a blacksmith?" Mathias asked.

Berwald shook his head.

"A Bastard son from a guard and a handmaiden?" Nikolas questioned.

Berwald shook his head.

"A Prince! Is he a Prince!" Björt asked, his eyes wide, drool coating his fingers as he tore them from his chubby little mouth.

Mathias scoffed.

"Don't be stupid Björt! A Prince? Bah! I'd believe he was was a _duck_ before I'd believe he was a Prince!" Mathias laughed, his hands clutching at his sides.

"He's right..." Berwald mumbled, his eyes downcast, fingers playing with the soft hair atop the babies head. His crying had softened some, worrying Berwald slightly, fearing that the child was not getting enough air.

"What?" Nikolas asked, his voice low, serious, disbelieving.

"He's th' Prince...Th' Prince a' Finland." Berwald spoke again, his fingers smoothing down the babes hair, the child mumbling and cooing in his lap, his cheeks warming to a steady pink, yet his chest was still heaving sporadically—this child would need help very soon lest he join the underworld in a few short minutes.

"No...Oh no...Nonononono.. You mean to tell me that you brought, into our humble shit hole of a home—_The Prince of Finland?_!" Mathias shouted, his eyes wild as he growled at Berwald with vengeance, his teeth gleaming a deadly wolfish white.

"What if he lives! What if we save 'em! Think a' all th' rewards we'll get!" Berwald tried to reason with the Dane, his hands holding the Prince to his chest protectively.

"What if we _don't_? He dies—we die! Damnit Berwald, you're going to get us all killed!" The Dane screamed, his voice startling the horse, causing them to pace round their cramped stalls, tossing their heads.

"We have to either heal him or put him back in the snow to die. Those are the only options." Nikolas said calmly, his young eyes much to hardened for a young boy his age.

Mathias and Berwald looked uneasy, Mathias biting his lip till coppery blood was drawn, muttering curses under his breath aimed at the Swede.

"I certainly do not want the death of the Finnish Heir on my hands and neither do you Mathias. We need the Prince to take the wine—it's our last shot." Nikolas spoke, his words holding a heavy sigh to them, a tiredness that chilled them all to the bone yet made their blood boil. They needed the Finnish Prince to live, for their own lives to be spared.

Mathias huffed with sour breath, his hands crossed over his chest.

"An how do ya' propose we get him to drink tha' damned stuff?" Mathias growled, his glare growing bigger by the second, eyes like liquid blue fire.

"He needs to suckle, a babe is age cannot be expected to drink from a bowl like we once thought." Nikolas reasoned, setting the bowl down, half of it spilled along his fingers, leaving them strewn with watery pink that stained his fingers.

Berwald frowned, knowing the child was too young to be expected to take from a cup or bowl, such was the trouble with infants. If only they had a goat whose teat the babe could drink from...

"Well." Mathias sighed out with frustration, his hands at the collar of his tunic.

"If it's for th' Kingdom of Finland-" Mathias began to take off his tunic to reveal his pale tummy and chest, his hands getting caught in the red woolen fabric before Nikolas thwacked him over the head with his hand.

"He does not need your teat to suckle you idiot!" Nikolas hissed with annoyance, his eyes turned to slits as the Dane merely smiled cheekily, Berwald growling once again like a protective dog taking care of her pups.

"Yet he does need to feed from something similar to a pap." Nikolas murmured, his hands picking up the iron finger bowl, the liquid still mildly warm, still good.

"Berwald." Nikolas looked to the tall Swedish child, the giants eyes blinking in the direction of the Norwegian.

"Hnn?"

"Berwald, I need you to dip your finger in the wine, see if the babe will take it." Nikolas mumbled, gesturing with his own finger, pointing it to the bowl with the lovely smooth red liquid.

"Why me?" Berwald asked, cheeks pink. He was a man of six winters damn it! He was not a mother waiting on her children!

"Because you got us into this mess and now you are going to get us out—or do I have to call on the Trolls that live on the mountain to _kick your_ _ass_!" Nikolas warned, his eyes growing more irritable by the second. Mathias and Björt simply giggled at the Swede's misfortune.

So, begrudgingly slipping his thin index finger into the warmed wine, he carefully brought the dripping finger to the child's lips, watching as the child huffed and cooed, his nostrils flaring.

"...Dun' think he's gonna drink it-" Berwald was about to say when Nikolas immediately hushed him.

"Look!" he whispered with a small smile.

Berwald, tearing his face away from the Norwegian, looked down to see the small pink infant open his mouth with minimal effort to suckle the wine covered finger, the small gums ticking Berwalds' digit, making him giggle.

"Aw look, Berwalds' a mommy!" Mathias laughed to himself, earning a glare from Berwald and a nudge in the rib from Nikolas.

"Give him some more..." Nikolas instructed Berwald, holing the bowl out to him, the Swede doing as he was told. After a few finger scoops of the watered down liquor the Finn's cheeks grew rosy red and his breathing calmed down some, his fingers moving better on their own and his eyes crinkling against snow white lashes—ready to open up to greet the ones that had saved his life.

It was slow at first, when the now giggling Prince decided to open his eyes, those lovely little violet orbs that captured Berwalds attention. That amethyst gaze that made the Swede smile, his heart warming when he looked upon the the little child, wondering If this was what it felt to be a mother, looking at her son for the very first time...

And yet, within an instant it was ruined.

Heavy footsteps were heard near the entrance to the stable, gruff voices soon following, Finnish by the sound of it.

Then they heard it, the heavy slicing of an axe against the stable doors, splintering the lock in two, chains rolling to the floor with a lovely clink as the doors groaned and were pushed open to let in a gust of cold air.

The four boys, eyes wide and mouths agape, turned to one another with silent horror at what had just happened, what was happening, what was going to happen.

Mathias was the first to get up and steady himself, his eyes flashing to see a row of five Finnish royal guard, plenty more behind them. Mathias, making a short high pitched battle cry came running at one of the men with fists in the air—the soldier quickly clubbed him over the head with the heel of his sword, the Dane falling silent in the softening hay.

Next it was Nikolas to scream and fling himself over the Dane's still body, his eyes running wild, Björt starting to wail and burst into shattered sobs till Berwald tried to calm him down, the crying only resulting in the infant in his arms bawling as well, his tiny eyes impossibly wide as he screamed with enough force as to mimic the sound of thunder!

"Who dares! Who _dares_!" Was the first words spoken that Berwald actually heard before he was scrambling to join his friends, his friends who were sobbing around in the hay like beaten dogs. The baby at his chest letting loose scream after scream before Berwald heard the words again, this time so close he could feel them at his ears.

"YOU! You son of a Swedish Bitch! You saved him! You twisted the fate of the Gods!" It was the King, the King who was red in the face, beard gray and slack, wrinkles forming under his eyes as he yelled, grabbing Berwald by the collar and yanking him upward, the babe in his hand tumbling from his grasp, the blankets thankfully cushioning the fall.

Berwald, biting his tongue to keep from yelling back, shouting and shrieking, decided to only glare with hatred at the King that dared to throw the Prince to the ground, the sweet sweet innocent Finnish Prince.

"Answer me you low life scum! You—You were the one where you not? The one who defied the law—who stole into the night to retrieve my son! He was meant to die! Not be saved by some Swedish brat! Answer me!" He snarled, his fist raised above his head to smash it into Berwalds' face.

Berwald would not cringe, would not shrink into himself. Instead he weakly stood up, jerking himself from the Kings stone like grep. His knees weak and sore, made cracking noises as he tried to walk. He stood up and stumbled the few paces to the swaddled child who laid forgotten by King and soldier alike, the child with the violet eyes, with a smile as beautiful as a rose.

Berwald stooped over to the infant and, with a small heave of his breath, picked up the wearily crying baby in his arms, cradling him to his chest.

"Aye. I found 'em. I brought 'em in. I healed 'em." Berwald swallowed deep in his throat, hearing the sobs of his friends behind him, Nikolas trying his best to wake Mathias up, to find a pulse, to hear a heart beat.

"I...I defied ya'." Berwald whispered, a dry noise that sounded like the wind that began to howl outside the stable walls. A noise that sounded like the dry crisp slither that the soldiers made when they drew their swords from their scabbards. That noise that sounded like the shuffling of hay under foot. That noise that sounded like a boot being raised. That noise that sounded like the whoosh of a kick. That noise that sounded like a blood curdling scream.

…**...**

**DUN DUN DUN! Ya, bet you never saw that little bit coming (Neither did I!) What did King Mauno do to Berwald? Will Tino live? What of Mathias, Nikolas, and Björt? Bwahahaahahahhahhaahhah! You shall have to wait lovely readers 3**

ALSO! DO NOT FEED INFANTS WINE PLEASE!** It was common for children to drink just like their parents in the 'Ye Olden Days' but not now. No, not now! (However, for adults—wine does help with opening arteries and increases blood flow within the body. By doing this it can keep blood clots from forming which can help with oxygen flow as well. Roses are also good for people suffering lung disease or coughs. The more you know~~~**

…**.**

**Authors Notes:**

**-**"He's not been weaned yet—that is known from his age. Poor little thing, I wonder if he had a wet nurse...We have no more milk for him and there are no breeding mares in the stable in the dead of winter to be milked..."***-That's right. Milk from a Mare. A female horse. Yum Yum. Though that was usually the last method for feeding babies because if could most often lead to vomiting and death or the flux in their bowls. Yummmmm.**


	4. Authority Given

**Hey guys! This chapter will be short-but it is dedicated to **loveforluna** on tumblr who commanded me to update something! This is for you! **I do not own Hetalia, but I do own this story! **Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie**, **Ruusu**, **Kooliobutterflyhahaha!**,** **and **Sine-k**-thank you so much guys! This story is based off of the Swedish song, "**Herr Holkin**" by **Garmarna**. Want spoilers? Listen to the song with English lyrics. Now on with the chapter!**

…**.**

The scream was not of the young Swede, who, had stood strong and straight, awaiting his gruesome death with dignity. No, this scream was more softer-yet still disturbing none the less. It was throaty and quivering-as if a mix between joy and sorrow. It was not his scream.

The noise seemed to shake the horses around him as well, their muzzles snorting what was surely a fine bought of mist like breath. Yet Berwald's eyes remained shut, his teeth on his tongue, ready to bite and send his mouth gorged with blood-chocking to death was better than waiting in agony by a massive head wound from the Kings boot. He could at least give him self some comfort before he died…

But the hit never came, the metal tipped boot never grazed his face and his eyes, which were still shut, could hear the sounds of crunched hay. Someone was moving towards him, and fast.

He still heard the sobs of his friends, their crying slowing, stopping with soft hiccups as that scream-now ringing in Berwalds ears intensified till he could hear it deep into his mind. Until it was…Right. On. His. Ear.

"_What is the meaning of this_?" It was a shriek, a scowl of the lips and a clench of the teeth. After the words were spoken, Berwald felt something around him. Arms, limbs, hands holding him close, lifting him upward until he was dragged into warmth-a lap.

Berwald could smell the scent of lilacs-sweet lilacs. He could feel the coil of beads from the woman's throat nestled under his chin as their coolness graced his cheeks. He could feel the weight of her bony hands, clinging to him so tightly it almost hurt.

He also felt the warmth of another body, this one smaller, littler, more familiar to him that his own heart. It was the tiny Finnish Prince, still haphazardly wrapped in swaddles. Berwald, not even thinking, clung to the child, snuggling the babe to his chest as his head dug into the warmth that was his savior, that was _their_ savior.

Though he could not see he could feel it all as if he was a blind man who knew the sense of touch long before the spark in his eyes went out. But he didn't want to be blind-He wanted see what was happening, wanted to know why he was still alive. He wanted to know if _he_ was still in this world.

So, with a crinkle of his eye brows and a clenching of his jaw, he unscrewed his eyes, the light seeming more unsettling, yet more welcoming than anything he had ever experienced. He felt safe. He rather liked the feeling.

But all that changed when his teal colored gaze caught the watery eyes of the King on him, standing over him with ragged eyes that burned like the moon overhead. Berwald cringed, fearing his once courageous heart failing him-he clung to the warm body that had tenderly kept him in their lap.

"How _dare you, _woman!" Was the snarled return for such an outrageous outburst-for such a disrespect to the crown and authority of Finland. At that booming voice Berwald only nested deeper into the folds of what he guessed was a dress, the rough pleated skirt feeling warm against his now tear stained cheek. He held the child tighter, allowing a small crook of space for the babe to breath, but other than that Berwald crossed his body over the infant, acting as a shield for whatever troubles should arise. He would defend this baby with body and soul-no one would ever destroy this innocent sweetness that had been brought into a world full of thorns.

He felt the arms around him and his precious cargo tighten, the flesh of his savior tightening, the bones, however small and thin, providing a makeshift protective cocoon over the Swede and baby Finn.

"How dare _I_? It is _you_ who defy every moral, every bit of standard , every bit of loyalty that is represented in the crown of Finland!" came the retort from a tightened throat, a throat that was wispy and dry, as if the voice in it refused to speak it was so racked with sobs.

"I am commanding you, as your King and Husband-untangle yourself from that wretch! Untangle yourself and let him be presented to me as the trash that he is! He shall die by my hands and by no other!" The voice of the King rang like thunder, his words making Berwald feel sick, yet he clung on to the babe in his arms, lifting his face up without little struggle.

Once his face was shown to the light, his hands still curled around the tiny prince, body still flung into the lap of the woman who was risking life and limb to preserve him, he became the object of disgust and rage.

"You will not cower from me boy! I am your maker! You twisted the will of the Gods and now you shall pay! Woman, unhand him!" The King made a movement to grab Berwald by the scruff of his neck, the boy making a pained yelp as he tied to scoot away, baby in tow, yet the warm and then hands that saved him only held him closer now, the Swede and his bundle pressed to the warmth of the body.

"I am no woman, Mauno. _I am Queen_, lest you not forget that! It is my bloodline that rules the throne since the age of old. I am the one who created the Prince-I will not allow such a brutish man to destroy him!" The woman, the Queen spat, her voice venomous as she looked into the shocked face of her husband, her once beloved. She felt no love now-only immediate hatred for the man she once loved, once grieved with, once gave vows to. She felt nothing.

Berwald, frozen in place, felt his breath quicken, his hands begin to tremble, his cheeks stained hot with terrified embarrassment.

He was cowering into the lap of the Queen! The Queen!

He it his tongue and did his best to not cry. Surely this was against the law-for a peasant boy to be clinging to the Queen as if she were his mother. No, this was wrong, he was out of line…

But yet he couldn't let go. He couldn't let his hands be wrenched away from this little babe, this little thing so sweet and fair-like a rose. He just couldn't. And if it meant cowering the arms of a Finnish monarch while his eyes bled tears and his lungs shattered with the repressing of sobs-so be it.

"I do not forget your rank, _dearest_." King Mauno suddenly spoke, his voice seething with mild spite, his eyes had calmed down, the vivid storm in them almost gone. But his voice was still raw and hoarse, his cheeks enflamed with red and the lines of his face clenched. The King was enraged-and it was all because of Berwald.

"What would you have me do?" He bit out, his eyes wandering to find Berwald, the young Swede's body inching closer to the Queen.

At the sight of those eyes the Swede flinched and grimaced. He clung to the body of the babe who was cooing softly, his tantrum before completely forgotten. Those amethyst eyes even opened to curiously peer at Berwald, his little eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Berwald could only smile sadly, knowing he had but a few more moments with such perfection .

"I wish my son to be placed back on the throne. I shall never be content until such a demand is met with action." The Queen said coldly, her voice controlled and restrained-the authority of royalty.

King Mauno seemed to consider it, eyeing the child that was curled up in Berwalds arms. The child he had once loved, the child who had become a hindrance, the child he had tried to convince himself to hate. It was not his fault that such a sickly thing was doomed to the laws of the land. If one was not fit, one would not live. It was simple, cold, but it kept the bloodlines alive and strong.

The child in front of Mauno did not look strong, at least, he didn't before.

Yet their was warmth in the babes cheeks that wan't there before. Those eyes were glassy and wet-not glazed and lifeless. His chest was rising steadily, his toothless mouth gurgling and keening. King Mauno bit the inside of his lip, his eyes remaining cold and unimpressed.

He scoffed deep in his throat.

"Aye. If the lad lives to be six without major complications to his health- then he shall be accepted as heir to my throne. If not-then he shall be left out to die…" the King made a sharp glance to Berwald, "…without complication."

Berwald swallowed harshly, his hands trembling over the wrappings of the child.

"I am content with such a statement my Lord. You as well as I must see the life in our sons eyes, life that was not there earlier this winter night. And yet he lives…" The Queen sat her self up, her hands dragging to sit Berwald up as well, the babe safely in his arms.

The Queen never looked at the Swede, but Berwald could tell she was happy with him, indebted to him. He could feel it in the warmth of her arms. No one had ever held him so lovingly-not even his own Mamma.

"…I am glad to see you content my Queen. I am also glad to see that our son takes breath…" King Mauno said, his voice a soft slither, Berwald unable to tell if such words were a farce or held truthful.

The Queen did not mover, her legs still twisted in the braids of golden hay that was scattered on the floor, her eyes like shinning amethyst-hard and serious. Berwald almost coward, feeling the two nobles in a secret battle for dominance and life. His life.

" We have not only the Gods to thank for that, my King." Her voice was soft yet stable, and Berwald felt his eyes widen as hose thin warm hands of the Lady Jaana heave him up to stand on his own to wobbly legs, her arms taking the baby to cradle to her breast.

Berwald, wanting nothing more than to run into the woman's skirts, trembled. He blinked rabidly, suddenly feeling vulnerable and unsafe-as if a slew of arrows would suddenly break through is body in a mere second.

Yet before he could start and break out into tears he felt a hand, lovely and solid, rest on his should. He twitched his head to the right and looked up into the eyes of the Queen, those lovely eyes that made him want to call such a woman 'Mother'.

"We have this young lad and his friends to thank for the life our son." The Queen spoke in the warm and hot air of the stable.

The soldiers by now had lowered their weapons and were flickering their gaze from the Queen to the King, their faces tight and anxious. No one knew what was about to happen. No one could predict such a situation.

The King scoffed once more, his eyes rolling as he twitched his lips into a grimace.

"Peasant orphans. Stable trash." He dismissed them, his words directed mostly to Berwald who suddenly stiffened.

The Queens eyes remained calm and cool before she took a tighter grip of the Swedes shoulders.

"I believe such loyalty as their should be rewarded…" Lady Jaana persisted, her voice coy and soft, her words easing her husbands temper little by little but making him more weary, more on edge than ever on what his crafty wife was planning.

"I shall reward him with his life, that is all. He will be banished from the city at the first crack of dawn tomorrow." The King declared with a snort, his watery blue eyes sure and unraveled.

Berwald cringed, his heart racing faster and faster as he twitched his eyes to glance at his huddled friends.

Mathias had come to but was being held down by Nikolas, the Danes head in his lap, his head musty with a few fresh streams of blood. Yet at the decree of the King, all four of the orphans grew pale, their hearts sunken at the thought of Berwald being banished. Such a thing would leave them utterly heartbroken.

"I believe a bigger reward is to be granted in his favor…." Lady Jaanna spoke with the ring of authority once more.

King Mauno bit his teeth together.

"And what reward will this be, My Lady?" Kind Mauno spat, his eyes boring into that of Berwalds.

The baby in his mothers arms began to bubble and laugh softly, his mother bouncing him up and down in her neatly cradled arms softly. The babe only laughed louder, a joyous sound, like that of a garden dove calling up to the sun.

"Well… What reward have you in store?" The King, growing inpatient, growled.

On the baby laughed and cried with gladness, his eyes wide as he grabbed at the air with his hands, his chubby cheeks red and healthy, his lips never ceasing to make that wonderful laugh…

Lady Jaana turned her gaze below her to where Berwald stood, right bear her hip, the young Swede having to restrain himself from hiding behind her skirts.

"Young man, what is your kin?" The woman spoke softly, her voice reminding Berwald of the velvety touch of rose petals.

"I am ah' Swede, m' Queen…" Berwald mumbled with dejection, his eyes downcast. Yet lady Jaana did not frown nor have a look of disgust. She only placed her hand underneath the young Swedes cheeks and made him look back up, his eyes shining.

"Never be ashamed of who you are…" She spoke, her voice the only one in the stable, as soft and glowing as a candles flame.

Berwald nodded slowly, his brow furrowed, unsure of what to do or say next.

"What id your name, young Swede?" The Queen asked again.

This time Berwald looked up and kept his gaze.

"M' names Berwald Oxenstierna, m' Queen…" He mumbled, trying to say each word as best as he could.

Lady Jaana smiled once more at Berwald before raising her gaze to Mauno, a twinkle in her eye, like that of the stars of heaven.

"He is a Swede…He shall get no reward but his life." Kin Mauno fixed, his eyes unmoving. The Queen kept her smile. The baby kept on laughing.

"He will not be banished, and he will keep his life."

"Then he will resume his life here once more-that will be the greatest gift I shall give him for his…deeds…" The King grumbled, his head raised high. Lady Jaana shook her head softly, with as much grace as a rose turning towards the sun.

"I did not finish my list of rewards for this Child…"

King Mauno raised his brow in a curious gesture before he sighed quickly. Tired with this whole debate and grapple for dominance the King placed his hands on his hips, his warm tunic doing little to keep his spirits warm.

"I am tired my Queen, I long to be out of this foul smelling stable. Your list of demands shall be met in agreement." The King hastily spoke, his eyes tired and dull as he looked at his Queen, the Lady Janna smiling silently.

"Then it is settled." She spoke with confidence.

The King eyed her wearily. "And what is it that is settled? Is the Swede to be given a plot of land when he is grown-a cow as a reward? Perhaps a bit of gold?" King Mauno guessed, his eyes peering down at Berwald, the boy fixed fast where he stood.

Queen Jaana shook her head, her gaze flickering over to her baby before it rested on Berwald. Then, with a slow moment the woman bent her knees to the ground to be eye to eye with the blonde and blue eyed Swede.

"Berwald…" She spoke.

"Aye, m' Lady…" He answered.

"I can see you treasure my son dearly…"

"Oh yes, m' Lady, that I do." Berwald spoke with unbridled haste.

The Queen laughed lightly, her eyes sparkling, amused by such eagerness in the lad before her.

"The I have a very special task for you. Would you like to accept it?"

Without hesitation Berwald nodded, his eager eyes never blinking.

The Queen closed her eyes briefly before, with a small nod, she spoke.

"Then, with the powers vested in me, Queen Jaana, I declare Berwald Oxenstierna legal caretaker and protector of Tino Väinämöinen, the Prince of Finland."

Not a word was spoken after such powerful words-only the smell of wild roses filled the winter air, only the smell of wild roses…

…**.**

**Pretty good for an hours time, eh? I think so! Please Review or the Dolphins will eat meeeeeee! Damn I made King Mauno sound like a Dick! He's not really a mean guyyyyyy. Kind of. **


	5. Vassal I Shall Be

**Welcome to the fifth Chapter of '**Promise me Wild Roses'**! I do not own Hetalia or its characters, but I do own this story! This story is based off of the folk song '**Herr Holkin**" by the Swedish Band '**Garmarna**'! Take a look at the song in Swedish or in English with lyrics for some spoilers! I'd like to thank my Many….MANY translators 3 Thank you to **MalinChan**, **yotzie, Ruusu**, **kooliobutterflyhahaha**, **Another Mad Swiss**, **Lillens**, **DianeLeBlanc99** and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen!

…**..**

Before Berwald could even breath out into the stale and cold air of the stable, before he could even blink, even feel his pulse to make sure his heart still had life within it-a furious growl shattered the silence that cooled his very throat and chilled his very bones.

"_What_?" Snarled the King, his voice rough and distressed, his eyes venomous and piercing. Berwald quickly shuffled his feet to hide behind the queen, his cheeks pressed against her hip as he silently coward before the Royal Finnish king. The pleated dress of the woman felt rough against his cheeks, but still he clung-this woman, Lady, Queen-she was the closest thing Berwald had to a mother, to a kind soul-he would hold onto her for dear life if he could.

"I should not like to think that you are hard of hearing my beloved. Have I not stated my words clearly?" The Queen responded with a soft cooing in her voice, almost mocking, and Berwald shook with fits of shivers as he heard those spiteful words, knowing full well the King would not be pleased to hear them.

Just as Berwald suspected, the Kings face began to glow a fine blood red as he huffed out a scoff of a breath, his blue eyes staring down Berwald like a bear about to snatch up a small rabbit. Berwald cringed and felt his lips quiver for what must have been the hundredth time today, his tiny teeth chewing his bottom lip raw.

He didn't like this at all, not one bit.

He tried to be brave, He tried to suck in his little belly, stop his damnable shaking, carry his head high-but how on earth was he supposed to show himself tall and prideful when he was stable trash? When he was orphaned so long ago-when he was a thief for stealing roses, when he was nothing but a dirty yellow haired Swede! He clamped his eyes tight and waited for his Queen to lose the battle, lose the war for his life-It was surely the stalks or the hang mans noose for him.

Yet the King seemed to stop his growling and feathering and actually seemed, at least to Berwald, to considered his next words carefully. The King, kneeling down so lowly that his fur Stoll that was wrapped around his husky shoulders feathered the ground, began to squat carefully so that his stockings did not touch the dampness and dirtiness of the stable floor.

Berwald sniffled, his nose read and his eyes wide as he waited for the Finnish King to wrap his stubby hands round Berwalds neck and squeeze tight-like suffocating a scrawny cat.

King Mauno knelt and stared at eye level to Berwald, his old wrinkled face tight around the eyes, letting the shaking Swede know he was still very much angry-yet a little more controlled with such boiling anger than before. _Little_, being the key word.

To the right Berwald could see his friends, his brothers cowering and praying, rocking their little fingers over their hearts as they prayed for the Swede's safety. Berwald sniffed and dried his eyes with the sleeve of his tattered tunic, his gaze returning to the King who was observing Berwald like he was a meek little animal that he would very much love to slice open and mount on his hunting walls as a trophy. Berwald felt sick to his stomach.

"Boy. Come here."

It was a command, short and simple, and Berwald found himself following it without a stutter in his step. He shuffled lightly in the hay and fodder that swam across the floor like a yellow waved ocean, his tattered holed shoes itchy as dusk and alfalfa seeds poked his heels.

Once Berwald was facing the King, the Swede's chin tucked to his neck, his eyes so far downcast that his shoulders were beginning to hurt as he hunched in on himself.

"Boy, straighten up!" That thunderous voice shot through him again, making Berwald wish he could just let out a soft wail and run away-stuck him to his place, his spine cracking upward as he practically stood on his tiptoes, coming up to the Finnish Kings waist. Berwald kept himself from breathing, kept himself from moving, kept himself from _thinking_.

The King raised his eyebrows, noticing the height of the youth that stood somewhat still in front of him. After a once over with his watery eyes, the King began to see some potential in the lad-he was certainly strong looking, was young enough to be molded into a servant, a warrior, a caretaker-anything and everything. It didn't look particularly smart though, perhaps that was just because the young Swede had the accent of a toothless cat. King Mauno smiled broodingly. Strong, unsoiled, and stupidly loyal. Oh yes, this young lad might just seem usable to the Court…

Yet this was the Prince of Finland that was over debate here, the King reasoned with himself. He realized he had been rather cruel and, begrudgingly he admitted, simple minded. His son was alive and seemingly well-that was a thing to be proud of was it not? To be joyous in? Yet the King couldn't help but gnaw at the inside of his withered old cheek. Yes his son was alive, but because a filthy stable boy decided to play hero and snatched the child from his appropriate destiny. Yes, Tino, The Kings sudden pride and joy, was meant to die-it was how it has always been and always will be.

Yet….

King Mauno, his face tight and cautious, stole a peek at the glowing child in his wifes hands. The toothless babe was squawking and giggling ridiculously and clutching at the air with his tiny curled hands, his fingers trying to snatch a bit of the Little Swede's hair, the jade eyed boy trying desperately to ignore the gleaming child, his eyes focusing on King Mauno himself.

The Finnish King grunted once, his mind made up rather stubbornly as he extended a hand outward to Berwald, the boy never flinching. The King smiled-perhaps there was courage and worth in this sorry looking child after all.

Berwald watched with inner fright as the Kings hands came to grab, rather harshly at his arms-the Finn concentrating on the thin but sinewy flesh, making a not so pleased rather than acceptable look as he pinched the muscle of the child. Berwald bit his tongue to keep from crying out in pain.

After King Mauno was done prodding the Childs arms he narrowed his eyes, his leathery lips opening to speak those pretty Finnish words that Berwald had the hardest time to understand. He really would need to lean Finnish if he wanted to be successful in this world. Berwald frowned, Swedish would have to become second nature to him, he cringed, already feeling a piece of his identity slip away.

"He's strongly built for a lad-A big brute he will be when he's grown…" King Mauno said in a voice that reminded Berwald of a calculating horse breeder trying to sell a gangly colt at twice the price the animal was worth. The young golden haired Swede bit sourly at his cheek, knowing to keep himself quiet instead of giving lip and more than likely being struck across the face till he was black and blue. He could endure the humiliation of the Kings words, he had been for most of his life in some form or another.

The Queen seemed to look displeased at her husbands words as she watched her Lord prod his fingers in Berwalds face, the Swede looking utterly startled as King Mauno forced open the boys mouth with his fingers to count his teeth and make sure he had no ill-normality's-"The colt must be in the best condition to be bought at the fair lest the animal be cut up for meat and dog fodder." The king mumbled to himself. Berwald nearly bit the mans fingers off in temperance as the King began to hum some more degrading phrasings, some along the line of "No Pure Breed but he'll do for now."

"He is not a horse, my love-he is a human being, and a courageous noble one at that." The Queens stern voice prodded none too gently into the tight and humiliating atmosphere.

With a dulled humph the King, seeming to be done with his little physical of the poor Swede, merely huffed and tuned his slim gaze to his wife, the High Queen and technically the highest status in the land of Finland, though King Mauno seemed to think differently throughout the often tense years of their marriage.

"He is no horse, you are right about that. Even a mud wrought pony would seem more appealing as a show animal than this beast." The King grumbled with little to no regret as he tsked at the Swede that, for the most part seemed to be rooted to the ground with a great feat of concentration, sweat beading down his brow as his hands clenched at his sides.

Just take it. Take the insults and keep your mouth shut. Berwald said to himself, shifting his eyes slightly to the gurgling babe that was wrapped in his mothers arms, the Swede's stress and anger melting from his shoulders some at that beautiful rose-pink face. That child truly was sweet to look at Berwald thought softly, like a small little rose blooming the wildness and harshness of winter. A violet rose born around a bush of thorns…

"He is a _Vasalli _if anything more that a servant or slave, and a servant to the Finnish Crown must be perfect."* The King justified himself in saying, his hulking body leaning upright once more as he surveyed the blank faced Swede below him, the comings of a distasteful sneer on the High Kings face-as if he just tasted something bitter and unpleasant.

"So then, you accept him as a Vasalli to our son? You place your agreement upon his new post and responsibilities?" The Queen hummed pleasantly, her eyes sneaking over to Berwald, her gaze calming him some. She smiled sweetly to the child and Berwald felt his tense shoulders relax-he was almost out of danger, almost on safe footing, almost away from the clutches of the noose.

The King seemed to wrestle with the thought of acceptance of the scrawny yet tall Swedish lad. The idea of letting an orphaned Swedish boy-the enemy kin of Finland-to watch over the defenseless babe till he took the crown that was destined for him since birth-or at least since he was born sallow-seemed like something of a dangerous thing to the King.

A Swede was not to be trusted in the eyes of the Finnish Monarchy. For, after all, al the Swede's did was take take take, leaving Finland weak and dependent on the richer more power hungry country-the Swedish were kings of the Baltic's right alongside the Danes who ruled the North. Not even _Russia_, King Mauno thought with dismay, could break the grasp Sweden had on this wrecked world of theirs. Swedes to the west controlled Finnish trade routes, controlled certain satellite states dotted round Finland's lush and watery land. King Mauno bit his lip hard enough to make it bleed a small flow of copper, his chapped lips tasting dulled and worn.

But.

But, perhaps by enlisting a Swede as a Vassal to the Prince, it would show to the world that King Mauno was not afraid of the Swedish crown. That he would go so far as to place a Swede so close to the crown-that he illustrated his notion that they were a weak people who just got lucky in the eyes of the Gods. Because King Mauno was definably not afraid of the bigger, more powerful state and country. No, of course not.

The King took a shallow look at the Swede and nodded slowly, Berwald stiffing quickly, unsure of what the King meant with his head gesture.

"Jade eyes…" The King hummed with distaste. "Jade is nothing like amethyst, not in beauty, not in worth, and certainly not in power." The King mumbled.

"But a stone is a stone, an eye is an eye and a rose is a rose." The Queens voice pattered softly in the mutely lit stable, the torches blazing quietly in the hands of the guarding soldiers who had kept a quiet vigil all this time.

The King sighed for a moment, gave Berwald a quick glance once more before swallowing some spit in his mouth and turning his back to his Queen, child, and new obtained Vassal.

"Aye my Queen. A stone is a stone, an eye is an eye, and a rose…is a rose…" He quietly spoke before heaving out a great sigh that made his Queen smile, knowing she had won the battle after all-she always did.

"Get the Swede scrubbed and dressed like a proper member of Finnish Society…He smells like a Troll that lived like a hermit all his life." The King scathed, his annoyance rising as he understood fully well he had been bested.

Yet perhaps the Swede being a Vassal would do well for the King. It would certainly show the Swedish Crown what for, King Mauno thought. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. The King frowned bitterly.

"Get the other runts cleaned as well…" The King spoke under his breath after a second thought, his eyes locked tiredly on the huddled mass of the three other stalemates, their eyes widening.

"It will be done my King." Lady Jaana assured her husband, her voice just a tad bit condescending.

"I trust it will be." The King gnashed his teeth together before he himself and the guards stomped out of the stable, the horses breath whispering out cold voiceless words as the King left the stable in quiet peace once more, his unspoken nod of approval enough to slate Berwald's worries and strife's.

He had been, more or less, accepted fair enough to guard the child of the Finnish crown. The child of the mighty sword wielding lion, the country made from a Goddess's touch and the seas breath. Berwald let out a sigh of relief. He felt suddenly like he belonged. It was a nice, to have a place in the world that you were contented with.

Then, with a quiet whisper, the Queen, with her face so fair, spoke-her voice making Berwald turn around and blink, the weight from his shoulders fading away from him like petals leaving a rose-leaving him bare of his old life and fresh with his new. He rather liked the feeling.

"Berwald, it's time to go now-best not to keep the King waiting." The Queen spoke softly, like she was talking to a freshly born lamb, still trembling on timid legs on shaking ground.

"Where are we goin'…?" He asked quietly as the gentle lady took his hand, not shying away in disgust like others did.

"To the castle. We must get you and your friends cleaned up and dressed appropriately." She said, nudging the boy towards the stable doors, the rest of his friends cautiously getting up from their corner to wobble on sleepy legs to their Swedish brethren. Nikolas was helping Mathias to his feet, the Dane leaning heavily on the Norwegian-yet he seemed okay at least. His wound had gathered some bloodied mats in his hair and there was a lump near his forehead, but other that he looked like his cheery ol' self. Even the little panicked Icelander had stopped crying, choosing instead to clutch his older brothers hands in his while holding his Puffin rag doll.

"I'm afraid it will be a bit chilly inside-the fires have not been stoked yet since this rush and gloom." The Queen muttered, more to herself that the remaining soldiers and small children that scuttled round her.

"Th' castle?" Berwald mumbled, the words forming slowly on his lips, carefully unmarred for the most part.

"Yes Berwald, the castle." The Queen said firmly, her right hand supporting the child closer to her hips, the babe fawning over one of his mothers many necklaces-the bright glass beads and bones making a soft jingling sound.

Berwald hummed to himself as he watched the child, the soldiers leading them through the door, a cold wind greeting them with a stab of ice. All of them braced against the wind that howled devilishly around them.

"Why th' castle?" Berwald asked softly as they marched in the snow, like a family taking a winter walk to set out for the perfect Yule tree for their hovel.* Berwald bit his lip softly, quietly hoping the infant in the queens arms was warm enough in this nipping cold.

The Queen smiled and looked down at the Swede with gentle eyes, the clouded stars above her looking like jewels thrown to the sky as thick snowflakes, like white rose petals guarded their way to the stony walls of the Finnish Hall.

"Because, that castle is where you will pledge your life, loyalty, soul, body, and heart to my son." She said with a kindly smile.

Berwald felt his face blush a light pink, his heat hurting tightly-as if a thorn had been pierced through it.

The Swede quickly looked to the ground, walking idly in the snow next to the Queen and her child that he was sworn to protect will all that he was.

The Finnish Prince would need no assurance that Berwald would be loyal to him in the years that would come and try them both. The young Swede had already promised himself that his life belonged to this young Finn. Tino Väinämöinen had Berwald's life, loyalty, soul, body-and more than anything, the little babe with the amethyst eyes and rosy cheeks-had Berwald's heart forever given to him, like a wild rose gifted to a loved one.

…**..**

**Oh My Goodness Berwald, you're like six. He's like….A few weeks old. Water you doing?**

**REVIEW PLEASE BECAUSE I KNOW YOU LOVE ME LOTS-RIGHT?**

…

**Authors Notes:**

-"He is a _Vasalli _if anything more that a servant or slave, and a servant to the Finnish Crown must be perfect."***- "Vasalli" Vassal in Finnish.**

-"Why th' castle?" Berwald asked softly as they marched in the snow, like a family taking a winter walk to set out for the perfect Yule tree for their hovel**.*- "Yule" is a Pagan holiday during the winter celebrated in Germanic Speaking Cultures as well as others. **


	6. What is Asked of Me

**Welcome to Chapter six of **Promise Me Wild Roses**! I'd like to thank my extra-special-super-duper translators, **MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. **I **do not own **Hetalia **nor** its characters, but **I do own **this story!** **This story is based off of the folk song '**Herr Holkin**" by the Swedish Band '**Garmarna**'! Take a look at the song in Swedish or in English with lyrics for some spoilers!**

….

After being led away from the barn and into the lavish gates of the castle, Berwald had immediately - along with the rest of his brothers - been sent to the wash room where he now stood-er sat.

For now he was covered head to foot with warm - ah, yes, warm - heavenly water and was currently having the filth and grime scrubbed off his shoulders and back.

The oil and mud that had been caked on his scrawny little arms since the last time he bathed melted into the hot water in a rainbow puddle of gunk - but he felt so much better afterwards as he finally didn't smell like the backside of a horse.

Though Berwald was a bit shy about having a woman bathe him, he was reminded that since he was to be the Vassal to the Finnish Prince that he had to be kept clean and tidy no matter how embarrassing the situation was. He must keep his hair combed, his feet shoed, his face clean and his body smelling nice and washed. The stable's stale air didn't suit him anyway, he thought pleasantly.

So, being the good little boy that he was he waited patiently through all the tiresome washing, closing his eyes tight so as not to even be reminded that he was in his knickers in front of a girl.

Katyusha, as she had addressed herself to Berwald, thought the little boy was positively charming and teased him quite happily so as to get him to smile or to laugh, even if his eyes were screwed shut from abashment.

It was after the short haired blonde got Berwald to giggle at a joke about a troll and a human falling in love that Berwald soon found himself being scrubbed vigorously with a rag of soapy water.

Yet no amount of polite chatter could completely unnerve the little Swedish boy.

Not when everything was still strained and severely awkward for the poor child of six winters. He just had to remind himself that this was his life now, this was what it took to look presentable, this was what it took to protect that lovely child.

Against his protest, Katyusha began to suddenly dump a whole glass bottle of rose oil into the small cedar tub that Berwald was perched in. In a matter of no time he soon smelled like a damn garden, and he was none to pleased in the least about it.

It was one thing to be bathing naked in a tub with a silly girl pestering over you - but to stink to high heaven like a wild rose? That was almost as much as Berwald could take.

Yet his time in the small little stone room was not entirely unpleasant.

It was nice, he admitted to himself, to be in a room mortared by thick stones and cement - away from the winters bitter cold, away from the snarling howling of wolves, the smell of dank horses and the snoring of Mathias.

Berwald smiled fondly, thinking that now things would be different. Now he had a home, no matter how unappealing he was amidst all these other people - these people with Finnish blood in their veins or Finnish ways held to their hearts in love. He was not a citizen yet, not a Finn, not even a worthy servant with status - _well, that all changes tonight. _Berwald allowed himself a small smile that made his brows furrow - causing Katyusha to almost drop the wash rag to the floor in fright at his upturn of lips.

"My, my Berwald! What a scary face you make - I trust it will be you that will chase the goblins away from young Tino's crib! Those naughty spirits and creatures will be after the small child, you know!" The Ukraininan girl warned half teasingly.

Oh, yes. Another thing about this woman that Berwald had come to know.

Katyusha was extremely superstitious.

Berwald tended to ignore her though when she would titter in her sweet voice about those goblins and omens. He couldn't say he didn't understand where she was coming from. Berwald too was wary of the creatures that roamed these lands - but it wasn't to the extent as this poor girl.

Berwald furrowed his brow more as the wash rag became cold and clammy on his skin. He was too polite to complain - besides, he liked this girl. He did not want to cause her trouble.

"Yes, yes, many-a-things can go wrong with babies… But if they have someone looking out for them, then nothing wrong will come. Nothing wrong will come. " The Ukrainian girls mouth smoothed out a whisper as she brought out a woolen blanket to wrap around Berwald and his child nakedness, to which the Swede was grateful and began to rub his arms down as he carefully lifted his squeaky clean feet from the little tub of water.

Yet, soon the bath was over and Berwald was given time to dress himself in stocky clothing that was thick and heavy and made his shoulders ache with weight.

A finely woven tunic spun and dyed in cobalt blue was laced over his gangly body and tied tightly round the middle by a little leather belt that Katyusha explained with excitement that soon, if the Swede proved himself to be a great Vassal in his adult age - would gain a lovely rapier - as thin and deadly as a snakes bite. At this, Berwald began to fidget nervously

Berwald then is, after being changed in stuffy clothing that he finds is too heavy to walk in let alone stand in, combed and primped till he starts to look more and more like a Vassal than stable trash.

The awful cowlicks that he acquired from his time nuzzled in itchy hay were smoothed and oiled out - his ears cleaned with an ear spoon laced along Katyushas' apron chain, and his cheeks were given a good pinch by the girls two slender fingers for "_Good Luck_" as she said. Berwald let a small worried smile escape his lips, knowing that he would need a hell of a lot more luck that that if he wanted to survive tonight in one piece.

Then, after a few more supportive coos from the emotional girl who begins to _cry_, two guards who were stationed by the door come to collect Berwald to lead him downstairs and too the throne room

Their footsteps were heavy along side Berwalds' own meek ones, and it didn't take very long till the young Swede of six winters was almost peeing in his pants. Then men that ushered him along did nothing to curb his nerves as they merely grunted and conversed with each other in grabbled tongues that Berwald honestly couldn't understand that well.

Not to mention that fact that, though as foreign as their conversation was, Berwald knew they were talking ill about him.

But, Berwald feeling a spark of courage ignite within him, chose not to break down in to tears because it just so happened that two guards hated him because of his bloodline. No, no.

_Best to save the tears for when the King Spits in your face and rams a pike through your head, Berwald. _He thinks with bitter fear as onward they march down stone cold steps that lead to the young Swede's very fate.

….

Yet perhaps it was not _everyone_ who detested his guts. For when the two guards, all long haired and gruff looking, stood stagnant and still in front of an opening as big and grand as two stable doors - Berwald felt hope surge fast within him.

Against the warm flickering light of giant cauldrons filled fast and thick with hunks of pine and oak, stood on either side a massive gathering of staring people.

People of all sizes, staunch and lanky, people of all status, hand maids, slaves and nobles alike, and just people smiling like they were genuinely content and supportive of such an announcement, such a change. Berwald could hear the whispers on their tongues, in their breathes.

_The Finnish Prince is to gain a Vassal - A Swede to guard a Finnish life! Hah!_

Berwald allowed a small quiver of a shake to grate through his body before he set his mind to perfection. Stand tall but not too tall - mustn't appear self righteous. Speak loudly but not too loudly - must not appear rude. Bow lowly - but not too low, must not appear weak. So many thoughts and rules hit Berwald square in the face until, with a shuttering breath, he realized he had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to do now.

It had never occurred to him that he had been standing outside the open doors for five minutes now looking like a dumb idiot front of a great gathering in the Finnish court.

_Great job, Berwald. No, really, there probably loving you right now as you just stand here awkwardly. _He chastised himself before he took a deep breath to calm his shaking body.

Berwald cannot help the fact that he soon begins to sweat profusely, drops of salty moisture collecting on his brow and the back of his neck but he dares not to swipe his sleeve across his forehead for fear of running something, anything.

His feet begin to shake as if he were on stilts as he began to take small steps into the lavish hall that smells too sweetly of roses and ash and rich oil in glazed lamps.

A red carpet squished softly underneath his feet as his shoes began to tred carefully onward, his left foot sinking downward on the stitched face of a snarling lion - it's mouth full of thorned roses. Berwald swallowed deep in his throat.

But it's too late to turn back, too late to howl screaming to the heavens and run back to the dingy stable - he had to more forward, tail between his legs. He could do this, he could do this for Tino.

A sudden thought crept into Berwalds mind as he began to pass noblemen after noblemen, common man after common man.

Perhaps this is all a joke - a betrayal of sorts. Perhaps Berwald is just amusement, a Swede dressed in lovely fine clothes, cleaned and bathed, told he is to be ranked highly as Vassal - only to be clubbed over the head with a plank of wood and carted off to the stalks to be mocked. Berwald stops himself from reaching up at his tunic neck to pull at it, scared that the movement will set off a guard to come barreling into him.

Yet the threat of this all by a farce, a joke cruelly set up by the King, disappears as the Swede's jade eyes catch the hiss of movement from the right of him. In odd shaped little pews perched near the wall sat quietly Berwald's three adopted brothers, smiling and nicely dressed - with warmth in their eyes as they gazed upon Berwald. Even Mathias grinned like an idiot, a few teeth missed from his boyish face.

But before Berwald can let the comfort of his friends seep into him and cast away his nerves, a loud clattering noise rings around the flickering room and a man with a finely clipped beard stabs the stone ground with a long ornamental pike - a small flag set atop it with a Finnish Lion stitched in gold along the cloth.

His voice booms over Berwlad, shaking him in his step and causing him to halt like a startled horse over a threshold of fire.

"_Seremonia alkaa!_"_* _His rapt voice caused Berwald to cringe, not sure what was said or even what was happening.

It was only then, that the Queen's voice lifted against the echoed plume of noise, her gentle hands held outward in a small beckoning wave.

At the movement Berwald felt his fear leach out of his heart to be replaced by confidence.

With tentative and wobbly steps he carefully approached the two thrones set on a wooden dial of honeyed pine - curling's of knots and carvings gracing up and around the great platform, showing the grand history of the Finns. Berwald almost fainted in awe.

Yet, reminding himself where he was, he stopped his feet just a bit before the lavish carpet under his feet ended and met with cold hard stone.

When Berwald lifted up his face to skim his eyes timidly upward - his eyes caught the warm eyes of violet and the cold eyes of blue. He swallowed the lump in his throat and lowered his eyes once more to focus on the raised plat form, the silence killing him.

It was then that he noticed a small little beige crib of newly fashioned wood was rocking silently by the Queens feet at her place left of the two thrones. The crib itself was just as beautiful as the tall rising thrones that the two nobles sat comfortably in. Leaflets of gold and silver chains cascaded round the cribs base - blankets of white wool crammed inside to cover the baby that Berwald heard was starting to awaken, soft cries of sleep being emitted from within.

Berwald's heart tightened within his chest, feeling the motherly urge to cradle the child.

The Queens eyes begin to twinkle as she sees the fond and loving look in the Swede's eyes before her, sure now more than ever that she has made the right choice in her sons fate.

Then, Berwald, deemed that the awkward silence had gone on long enough, bent his head downward in an awfully clumsy movement that left chuckles and giggles to erupt behind him.

King Mauno rolled his eyes, obviously unimpressed, but fettered in tongue never the less. Apparently his wife had given him a stern talking to before the ceremony in order for him to keep his royal mouth shut. This, Berwald was thankful for.

The icy eyed King was the first to speak into the sweet air that smelled so pungent of perfumed roses.

"Young lad, is your name Berwald Oxenstierna?" He drawled out with a loose and bored jaw.

Berwald nodded softly, his jade eyes wider than ever.

"And are you of Swedish descent?"

Dead silence behind him let Berwald know that this question was of great importance to everyone and that a straight forward answer would be best lest he didn't want his head rolling round on the floor.

Berwald fidgeted in his place before, with eyes raised high as best as he could he mumbled a quiet "yes."

Immediately whispers of every kind erupted within the hall as ladies pressed close together to gossip and men looked onward with disapproval. Beards were stroked and hands were waved to cover plump mouths that spewed words of ever kind. For everyone knew Swede's were not to be trusted - no, no, big brutes they were - no friend to the Finn.

Berwald felt his face grow hot with embarrassment, the Queens motherly smiling eyes the only thing from keeping him from bursting out crying onto the nice plush carpet and rolling on the floor like some saddened brat.

"Do you revoke your loyalty to Ruotsi and graciously give your love and strength to the Kingdom of Suomi?"* The King leaned higher in his chair, watching Berwald with careful hawk eyes that promised a world of hurt for ant hesitation.

Berwald swallowed low in his throat before he squinted and nodded - following an eruption of even more chatter behind him. Shouts began to erupt and cries of praise hummed in the hall, feet were stamped and hands were clapped.

The King raised his own hand in a silencing move to quiet the crowd before he continued with sour breath.

"Do you swear by your life, body and heart to serve the Throne of Finland until you die?"

Once again Berwald gave a sheepish nod. Yet it only granted him a growl.

"Speak _up_ boy!" Suddenly shouted the King in a fierce voice that one could only call lion-like.

Berwald jumped with a shattered "Yes!"

Next it was the Queens turn to speak, her voice much more soothing, much more welcoming than the Kings. Her lips parted as she spoke with a tone like honey, smoothing Berwalds nerves some.

"Berwald," she spoke his name, and all became quiet within the chamber, even the babies gurgling that had picked up from his fathers screaming, settled.

"Do you pledge your sole ever waking moment upon this earth, in the servitude to the Finnish crown?"

"Yes, of course." He spoke with honesty. He meant it, meant every word. His mind belonged to the crown, his body belonged to the crown, his words belonged to the crown, his heart - everything belonged to the crown.

The Queen smiled with motherly lips like flower petals as she placed her hands inside the crib to snuggle the now awaking child to her lap.

Her lilac dress crinkled as the child began to fret and kick his legs with glee, his cheeks pink with warmth as his toothless mouth squealed. He was positively the sweetest thing Berwald had ever seen.

"Then," The Queen stated, leaning closer to Berwald as the child croon and tried to make a grab for one of her many bead necklaces to suckle to his pink gum mouth, "Do you pledge your loyalty to my son, to always watch over him, care for him, protect him with sword, body, mind and heart?"

"Yes, I would do anythin' fer this child." Berwald stated fully with breath so, with a sure and serious look in his eyes that even the King could not deny the truth in the Swedish boys words.

The Queen closed her eyes softly as if she was deep in thought for the quickest of moments before she reopened them, violet shinning like her sons own eyes, and nodded to herself as she, with warming hands, leaned the child in his swaddles to Berwald. The Swede, scared to death at first to hold the babe, tucked the child quickly to his chest so as not to drop him and cradled his head to the crook of his neck were the child slobbered along his tunic like a lazy puppy.

Then, without even being told, Berwald knew what to do.

The Swede lightly bent his head down to meet the child's soft crown of snow colored hair and kissed the babe atop his head, causing a ruckus of clapping and cheering and shouts to erupt with frenzy and happiness. Nothing but lively noise greeted the Swedes ears as he pulled back from the child's happy face that bubbled with a squeal and a shrill laugh.

This was the child that Berwald was destined to protect, and true to his fate, he would do his very best to make sure no harm would come to this sweet babe. No sword will touch his body, no illness will touch his head, no grief will fill his lungs no thorn will pierce his heart. Berwald would make sure of that.

…

**Gahhhhhh I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! I'm excited, you excited? :D Of course you are excited! Y'know what will really let me know if you can't wait for the next chapter? A REVIEW! That's right - to keep the dolphins away! I love you guys!**

…

**Author Notes:**

-"_Seremonia alkaa!_"_* _**- My translation is shitty. "The Ceremony Begins" in Finnish. **

-"Do you revoke your loyalty to Ruotsi and graciously give your love and strength to the Kingdom of Suomi?"* **- "Ruotsi" means "Sweden" in Finnish. "Suomi" means "Finland" in Finnish.**


	7. The Proposal

**Oh damn I am so happy to be writing this story….So damned happy. This is pretty much where the song comes in to play, if y'all want some spoilers - if you don't, I respect that man, I really do. *High Fives* One day you will become President/Prime Minister/King-Queen/Ruler and I will respect you. I'd like to thank my extra-special-super-duper translators, **MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen. Seriously guys, I fucking love you. **I **do not own **Hetalia **nor** its characters, but **I do own **this story!** **This story is based off of the folk song '**Herr Holkin**" by the Swedish Band '**Garmarna**'! Take a look at the song in Swedish or in English with lyrics for some spoilers! SPOILERSSSS! Hah.**

…

"T'no! Gods be damned, _slow down_!" Berwalds' voice was soon whipped away by the oncoming wind as his pony leaped over a low curtailing fallen log in the chase that had been going on for an hour now.

Berwald's horses hooves barely made it safely on the ground before the mare's heels kicked up pebbles once more and she was back on the chase, her and her riders eyes focused dead ahead.

What started off as a lovely little horse back ride along the grounds of the castle had blown and crumbled over into chaotic disaster as the rambunctious Finnish Prince, once past the gates of the grand halls, had decided that a slow and easy trot did not suit him, and that a breakneck gallop would content him best.

It was all Berwald's little bay pony had in her to try and keep up with the Finn and his maddening speed as the little blonde laughed and tickled the ribs of his pony with his boots to go faster, longer, quicker.

Berwald knew shouting atop his sweating horse would do no good as the Finn was already far ahead of him and would not hear his shouts. He was already galloping restlessly over the up currents of meadows and low brooks, splashing amidst the river water carelessly. It would be a miracle for Berwald to catch up.

It always ended like this - Tino would bat his eyelashes and in a voice sweeter than honey, coo to Berwald, "_Oh, let us take the ponies to the brook - we can enjoy the sun and fresh air!" _Berwald, unable to resist such lovely and kind a voice, would nod and get their horses ready, always praying that this ride through the palace gates would be different than the many others.

It never was.

Berwald would always be tricked by Tino as the Finn, in an instant once atop his grey pony, would lean foreword in his saddle and tighten the reigns before giving his horse a good kick in the ribs. He was always laughing as he turned his head backwards to glace at a fuming Berwald who would quickly mount his mare in order to catch up to the trouble making Prince in his care.

Berwald had thought that the twenty year old would have at least outgrown his childish ways - seeing as how his health was still a great issue to him. It had been many years ago since Tino had first chocked on his breath in his crib and was rendered in Berwald's care, yet the Finn's lungs still ached and bruised something awful and it was not easy for Tino to catch his breath. He often had coughing fits and would have to be bed ridden for days - but he still insisted on a normal life, a life without restraint and coddling. He would always tell Berwald, who constantly worried, that a life cooped up indoors was no life at all. One would always have to make time to smell the roses.

But, alas, Tino was still a daredevil and took his freedom from his room with great joy and recklessness as usual and Berwald, taking special care and kindness to the Finn, was always on the look out for his safety.

Even if that was one of the most hardest tasks to complete at the end of the day.

Berwald ground his teeth together as a young green willow branch almost smacked him in the face, his neck craning at an odd angle just in time before his mouth was filled with green leaves and twigs.

_Damnit, this happens every time…_

Berwald grumbled with false annoyance. He could never really be angry at the violet eyed blonde - nothing Tino could do or say could really ruffle Berwald's feathers to the extent that he would throw his own tantrum like Tino had done many-a-times before. Berwald cared for the younger man too much to do such a thing.

Berwald suddenly blushed atop his horse - the mares feet thumping and sliding underneath him as the ground began to grow softer and softer. Her hoofs clatter matched the sound of his own sporadically beating heart as it pulsed violently in his rib cage. They were getting near the marshes now, he could smell the rotted vegetation in his nose.

It was no surprise that after twenty years of servitude Berwalds childish obsession with the Prince of Finland had escalated into something more, well, shall he say, passionate?

He was in love with the Prince of Finland - the one person that was most off limits to him than anyone in the entire kingdom.

He, a Vassal, a Swedish Vassal, and Orphaned Swedish Vassal, was in love with the royal Prince of Finland.

Berwald knew he was plenty twisted up in the head with this one as he was constantly reminded of his status everyday. Whether it be thumps atop the head from old handmaids who would complain about his dirty clothes, or nips from the hunting dogs who sometimes guards would let loose on Berwald for sport, or even when King Mauno would suddenly shout at the Swede for no apparent reason in the Throne room except that he could because he was King and Berwald was a Vassal.

He knew he was never supposed to look at Tino with longing, lust, and fever in public as if glancing at a long lost lover. He knew he was never supposed to the touch Tino in more than a loyal and professional way. He knew he was never supposed to Hold hands with him, hug him, kiss him. He knew all these things from day one of his servitude. It was something that had been engrained in him long ago, and it hurt his heart sometimes to think about such restrictions and regulations when he was, in fact so deeply infatuated with the stubborn Finn in his care.

Berwald could soon hear the rumbling of the creek as the fattened spring waters began to rush through the reeds and saw grass. The path that Berwald's horse had taken him was beginning to widen out and the ground grew softer and muddier so that Berwald soon had to slow his horse down to a trot. Luckily he wasn't the only one that had seen the danger in such slick earth as Tino too had slowed his pony down and was making haste to tie his reins to an aspen sapling.

The Finn made a sloppy job of course, twisting and gnarling the reins so badly on purpose that after Berwald had dismounted his own pony and got the poor tired thing settled he had to fix the knotted reins of Mjölk, Tino's fat little pony.*

"Honestly! Y'think ya'd know how ta' make a simple knot!" Berwald scolded under his breath, his long and dry fingers working busily to wrap the reins nice and tight onto an aspen saplings limbs.

Berwald heard Tino laugh breathlessly from a ways away, the Finn probably running around in circles in the meadow - which he was not permitted to do because of his breathing problems. But did he listen? _Of course not_. Berwald thought with a huffed sigh. He's too much of a stubborn Finn to listen to reason!

After giving the pony just enough of a length for some room to graze but not so much as to let the knot come undone, Berwald was satisfied by his work and made his way over to the sounds of laughter that tittered over the long waves of newly green grass.

"Berwald! Look - Look, I've found a rabbits burrow - perhaps the mamma's just had a bought of kits! Let's look, _let's look_!" Berwald was greeted with beautiful amethyst eyes that he had first seen open so long ago, when the world was still incased in hard ice and frost. It almost pained him so much, to think of that time so very deep in the past when Tino was still a shivering crying babe, an outcast lost to the world.

But now he was Prince and soon he would take his fathers place and become King of the Great Finnish States. Tino would command armies, make laws, sign treaties, and rule his people with an iron fist. Berwald couldn't help himself as he let out a small laugh, trying to imagine the gangly and young boy that he had grown up with become a fearless leader. It was almost as comical as a duck ruling over a pride of lions.

But soon his own private thoughts were washed away as he felt someone tug as the loose sleeves of his blue tunic, his eyes blinking downward to glance at a very agitated and pouty face.

"Berwald~!" Came the breathy and throaty whine again as Tino grumbled and made harsh tugs at the Swede's sleeves, "Come look at the burrow I discovered!"

Berwald smiled down at the Finn and nodded soundlessly, electing a gleaming grin from Tino as he pulled Berwald along to a dry patch of earth that had eclipsed to show a small earthen cave no bigger than Berwald's head.

He was like a child, Berwald concluded as he watched Tino pick up a dried pine bough and poke at the rabbit hole's insides.

He was still small like a child - well, at least compared to Berwald's monstrous height. King Mauno was right all those long years ago - the Swede did grow up to be a brute of a man. And was it not that Tino was a man too? The little babe that was destined to never reach maturity had grown like a rose in a patch of weeds - sure, he was not the strongest of the Finnish men nor was he the tallest - but he had grown in to his scrawny body nicely. The baby fat had melted off his cheeks a few years ago and his arms and legs were milky white with sinew and flays of muscle. He was a man as well as Berwald, had been one for some time, and yet Berwald still saw him as the little snot nose brat that always took care of.

Oh he loved the Finn dearly all throughout childhood, of course. When they were little, after a Finnish hail storm, they would scamper to this very meadow near the grand Hall's gates and scoop up the blotchy white worms that had drowned in the puddles to play with. Or, when they were permitted and Tino was not so stricken by illness, they would ride the ponies to the creek to water them down and eat plump blackberries till their tummies were sore and their chins were soaked purple with juice. They would, with Mathias, Nikolas, and Björt, build massive hideouts out of stones and pine boughs smelling sharply of sap. They would walk through the Queens flower and vegetable garden that supplied the kitchens with much of the food during the fall months and would always take the time to smell the sweet and lush roses that bloomed so wonderfully.

That was a long time ago and yet nothing had changed, they were still together, still side by side and in each others care. Berwald let his eyes flicker to the Finnish man who had soon grown bored with trying to coax the rabbit kits out of their burrow and instead flopped lazily down in the long strands of grass.

"Careful ya' don't sit yer' bum in an ant hill." Berwald mused as Tino gave him a sour face and sat up with his elbows to whack Berwald playfully across the knees with the pine bow that he had been poking the burrow with.

"Careful you don't block out the sun with your giant forehead, frost giant." Tino murmured with a giggle, causing a frown to crease Berwald's brows downward from the teasing words.

""M not a frost giant." The Swede murmured softly as he carefully laid down beside the Finn who had rolled on his tummy so that his light blue tunic was now completely stained by soft earth and green grass. Berwald knew that he and Tino would get a scolding for getting their clothing worn and dirty, but at that moment the Swede really didn't care.

"Hmm…I know you are not - yet you are a giant in height and you did come to save me in the snow…" Tino hummed more to himself than to Berwald as he chewed thoughtfully on the blade of wild grass with his pearly little teeth and lips.

And what pretty lips they were Berwald thought as he watched the stalk bounce between the Finn's teeth and mouth.

Tino seemed to catch the Swede staring at him and, with a wide grin that would match that of a shifty fox, he giggled once more before his eyes blinked rapidly and the giggle turned into a gasp and the gasp turned into a cough and pretty soon Tino was clutching at his chest as his body began to shake and his eyes rimmed red with tears.

In a instant Berwald wedged his body backward to give the Finn some room to breath and fumbled with the side of his belt to untie a leather bag of rose wine mixed with flecks of ginger, the mixture sloshing in its confines.

Berwald broke the wax seal on the bone cap and grabbed the Finn's chin as Tino was spitting and hacking into the grass - his throat feeling like it was on fire, as if he swallowed a coal.

Yet soon, with much coaxing Berwald had thumbed the Finn's lips open and let the nozzle of the drinking pouch slide against his teeth with a dull click before the watery pink wine began to seep into the Finn's mouth and down his throat.

After a few gulps of the sweet smelling concoction Tino, with shaking fingers was able to take the pouch from Berwald and suckle it like a lamb to his mothers milk - his tear stained cheeks gaining their lovely rosy color back as the Finn's shaking began to cease and he could draw fresh air back into his lungs without a tremor.

After a few tense seconds of Berwald patting the Finn's back softly and his mouth whispering broken and awkward Finnish words of encouragement, Tino finally tore the pap from his lips and took a steady breath, his fingers taking on the now complicated and strained task of corking the nozzle back up so none of the precious liquid would spill outward.

He then threw the leather pouch to the ground a few paces from where they now sat till, with an exhausted breath Tino pressed his chest to Berwald and collapsed on top of the surprised Swede.

"Ah….Ah…I cannot keep…Losing my breath…when I am in your midst, Berwald. Look what your…ah…good charm does to poor ol' me…I am breathless!" Tino teased, his voice still to flighty and light for Berwald's peace of mind. Yet the words still reached the Swede's ears with his full weight as he pressed his hands softly into the Finn's shoulder blades to hold him steady.

"Shouldn't joke 'bought yer illness, Tino. Ya' really scared me…" Berwald mumbled quietly. Being with Tino was no easy task, Berwald had learned that out the hard way. It seemed these coughing fits were coming steadily back, month by month, week by week, day by day. This was Tino's second fit of the day, Berwald knew he had at least three more to look foreword to.

Yet Tino would always insist on making a joke about it, Berwald had come to realize. Perhaps to make it more easier to understand, more easier to accept. Tino was no stranger to death and sickness. He had been left to die as a child and only after Berwald had saved him was given a second chance to live. Tino was ill, his lungs were small and they couldn't get air easily so it often left him winded and gasping. His heart too, had a tough time circulation enough blood without the oxygen and so he got massive chest pains that would make him cry with anguish sometimes.

It took a toll on the Finn and the two had often remorsefully talked about the situation of it all. Yes, Tino was stronger than when he was a child - now he could go outside occasionally and act like a normal man when his lungs were feeling gracious and kind. Yet before, when he was twelve he had one of the worst coughing fits Berwald had ever seen - the young Swede thought he was going to die in his arms while they waited for Elizabeta to come to Tino's aid. It just made Berwald realize how very fragile the Finn's body was even if his mind and personality were made of iron and steel.

"I'm sorry, Berwald. I…it just, makes me feel better about…" The Finn suddenly stopped talking as Berwald laid back down in the grass, leaning up against his elbows for support as Tino cuddled to his chest like a little fox pup.

"Let's not talk about this now, okay?" Tino whispered quietly as he listened to the older mans heart, the steady rhythm drumming in his ears.

Tino would never tell Berwald, but the Finn always loved hearing his heart beat - Berwald's heart made music, Berwald's heart was strong. Tino wanted a heart like that - one that was invincible.

"M'kay…" Berwald agreed, his eyes fixed on the robins egg colored sky above them, a few puffs of clouds strewn near the tree topes.

It was silence for a while until a grasshopper hummed loudly and a few ravens cawed and heaved heavy wings above them.

"Odin's ravens are watching us…"* Berwald said softly to himself, Tino quietly humming back in response as his wool woven arms squeezed Berwald's middle tighter, nuzzling his head into Berwald's stomach. Berwald shifted nervously, a bit embarrassed that Tino was such a cuddler. It didn't surprise the Swede one bit though, as Tino was always very touchy feely.

"Berwald… Did you think about what we talked about the week before…?" Tino mumbled into the Swede's tunic, his breath hot and his cheeks still a bit wet from the previous tears. He waited patiently while the Swede grew rigged.

At this Berwald's face blistered with warmth and he had to clench his knuckles tight against a mess of grass to keep his balance.

Ah. The week before.

Berwald cleared his throat with a deep rumble and managed a dry sounding "Ja…"

Berwald could actually feel Tino's grin through his tunic and undershirt.

"And?"

The Swede bit sharply at his bottom teeth, worrying it so much that it puckered white. He could tell the Finn was now getting restless as he began to pick at the thistle burs on Berwald's sleeves, his eyes serious and yet distracted at the same time.

"And…I don't see how it won't get both our heads shoved on a pike…" Berwald managed to speak out though he wished he could take back the cold hard truth of the words that made his arms prickle with sorrow.

At that Tino raised himself quickly from the Swede's chest to glare at him with eyes like ice. Berwald was stuck in place by those eyes as Tino leaned in closer till their noses were almost touching.

"Have you no _faith_?" Tino growled out as his eyes changed from ice to a deep pool of sadness, his body pulling back from Berwald.

"Have you no faith in my love for you?" Tino spoke well below a whisper, his question stabbing Berwald right in the heart like a dull edged arrow.

Berwald felt like a timid child then, his heart begging him to scream, to shout, "I could never doubt you, I love you as well, I always have! You are my friend, my prince, my love!" but all he could do was lower his eyes and press his foreword to Tino's, the Princes skin oddly cold.

"I am no coward, at least, not for my life. I would brave many battles for you, I would burden the weight of your sickness for you, I would die for you, my love, my sweet…" Berwald wanted to change his words at this moment because the look on Tino's face was enough to make him want to get his hands stamped on my a horse.

"But…?" Tino whispered, his eyes glassy and wide as they stared Berwald down, like a small feeble child that knew the true meaning of doubt.

Berwald sucked in a breath of hot warm air that sickened him.

"But, you are the Prince and I am your Vassal. I have no qualms about placing my own neck in the noose - but you would be punished as well, maybe not to the extent as I would, but you would be shipped off to some foreign land to wed a woman you do not love… Tino, I cannot risk your happiness for mine."

Something must have broke in the usually cheerful Finn because without warning gripped the stitched opening of Berwald's tunic and yanked him forward till their eyes were locked.

"What about my happiness, Berwald? What about mine? We are lovers - we have been since our sixteenth winter together! Since we discovered that kisses feel good, that bodies are a miracle to be pressed up against, since we felt our heart beats fast against each others! I may be a blushing virgin Berwald, but so not for a second take me for a careless lover!" Tino almost snarled.

Berwald was about to protest, to say something, anything, but Tino cut him off before he could even get a breath in.

"We are careful, Berwald. We only meet in this meadow or after dark when all the torches have been gone and the smoke hides our forms. We have succeeded this far and now I know we shall succeed with this next stage in our lives."

"But," Berwald's eyes grew wide and wild as he tried to calm down Tino who was looking like he was suddenly about to burst into tears.

"Now, after our many thoughts and preparations, you wish to throw our only chance to the wind? We must escape Berwald, we must elope! I wish to wd you, the man of my dreams, and here you are worried about keeping our silly heads!" Tino bit back a cry as he weakly hit Berwald in the chest with his fists clenched so hard they turned bone white.

"Tino, I, let m' speak," But he was cut off again by a keening sob.

"Lovers get married Berwald, lovers live happily ever after! They get blessings from Frigga and they drink mead and they make love and they grow old together and live happily ever after!"* Tino whined as he buried his face into the Swede's chest once more, his body wracking with sobs.

Berwald could only stare down at his little lover with bewilderment. He thought he was protecting Tino by denying him. Tino was to be the Prince of Finland - not married to a mere stable boy! Yet Tino had told him before he really had no need for the crown, he didn't want it. He still resented his father for leaving him out to die the first time and he never really accepted that he had what it took to rule the many states of Finland in his weak state. Tino did not want to be King, a stable boys wife he found, was much more appealing to him than anything else the Gods could offer him.

"I want ta' live happily ever after, Tino. It's just, what if we get caught? I can't protect ya' from yer' fathers wrath an' certainly not a whole Finnish search party aimed at lopping m' head off!"

Tino wiped his tears and sniffled, his nose red as he contained a small cough erupting from his lips.

"Then we shall be careful - we shall leave in a few days un-noticed! We will collect our things tomorrow and ready the horses for the next night!" Tino's voice seemed to re-gain some of its previous brightness as he sat up and grinned hopingly at Berwald.

"You really want ta' marry me, dontcha' ya', yer highness…?" Berwald allowed small smile grace his lips as he ran his hands soothing over Tino's hips to steady the Finn who began nodding his head, his snow blond hair swishing in the breeze.

"Oh, yes, yes I do! Then it is settled, we shall elope like real lovers do! We will meet tonight at my bedroom to formulate our plan and then we will take wing and fly into the night together forever!" Tino chirped as he placed his hands under Berwald's jaw and kissed him lightly on the lips. The Swede's face erupted in a flash of pink as Tino pulled back to smirk, all traces of his crying long gone.

"Yer' really sick in th' head, ya' know that?" Berwald murmured teasingly as he pulled Tino back in for another kiss that left them humming and smiling even though they knew that what they were plotting was severely dangerous and ill-advised.

Tino only hummed back at the light-hearted insult and sat up on Berwald's hips to press his hands to his chest and to open his mouth wide before he began to shout and sing off key.

"_Berwald han haver lockat mig, att jag skulle giva honom min tro!_"* Tino sang breathlessly, earning a spark of red to grace Berwald's cheeks.

The Swede immediately pushed the Finn down softly into the grass before he covered his mouth with a kiss, Tino giggling against his mouth.

"Tino! Be careful what ya' shout - someone could hear an' then we'd really 'ave our heads in a noose!" Berwald hissed warningly after the kiss, his big bearish hands knotted against the sash and belt that held up Tino's grass stained trousers.

Tino only rolled his eyes and smiled lazily down at him, his hands wrapped up in Berwald as he pressed his chin to the Swedes' chest, the top of his head under Berwalds' jaw.

"Oh hush, Berwald! Quit your worrying - no one heard me, we are well into the meadow and the creek is loud enough to deafen my bad singing! You worry to much!" Tino scolded, his eyes sliding shut as he huffed out a few quick breaths to fill his staved lungs before he quieted himself for sleep.

Berwald smiled worryingly. "I suppose yer' right…" He whispered above Tino's head, not knowing that someone had heard them.

Had heard everything and anything about their eloping plan. Had heard Tino singing, and had heard their words of grief and happiness. Had seen the kissing and the holding of each other like loves do. They had seen them and they heard them and they planned to make devastatingly good use of the witnessing. Devastatingly good use.

…

**WHO SAW THEM? Yer' Gonna' have to wait till the next chapter because I'm an evil bitch! BUT I still love you guys, so very much, a-much-too-much! That's why this chapter is a bit longer than usual because I love you! **

Now, I know some of you wanted Little Tino and Little Berwald - I am willing to make it up to you by, if shown enough interest, write a little drabble about how they came to mutually understand their feelings when they were wee little children and then hormone crazy teens. Sound good? Tell me in your review if that interest you! AND REVIEW, PLEASE - THE DOLPHINS! THEY SWIM CLOSER AND CLOSER LIKE HUNGRY THINGS BENT ON DESTRUCTION! I love you, guys!

…

**Authors Notes:**

**-"The Finn made a sloppy job of course, twisting and gnarling the reins so badly on purpose that after Berwald had dismounted his own pony and got the poor tired thing settled he had to fix the knotted reins of Mjölk, Tino's fat little pony.*"**- "Mjölk" translates to "Milk" in Swedish. (Tin only calls the pony that name when he's in Berwald's company - as his dad would have a bitch fit if he knew the pony had a Swedish name. So Tino also calls him "Maito" or, "Milk" in Finnish.)

**-"Odin's ravens are watching us…"*- **Odin was the main male God in Norse Paganism. He owned two ravens, Muninn and Huginn, and, because he wanted to know all the on-goings of the world each day, the two ravens would circle the world and bring back any news and information to their master.

**-"Lovers get married Berwald, lovers live happily ever after! They get blessings from Frigga and they drink mead and they make love and they grow old together and live happily ever after!"* -** Frigga was the Norse Goddess of marriage and love. There are different ways to spell her name.

**-"**_**Berwald han haver lockat mig, att jag skulle giva honom min tro!**_**"* - **Taken from a line in "Herr Holkin" from Garmarna, it translates from Swedish to "Berwald has my favor won, to pledge my heart to him alone."


	8. The Trials of Natasha Braginski

**Well, I got some great feedback from a lot of you guys, and you will be happy to know that I will post a separate short story** **about how young Berwald and Tino started their romance! I'd like to thank my Awesome and oh-so-special Translators!** **Thank you to **MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**. Seriously guys, I fucking love you. **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **So sit back and enjoy this harrowing tale that will unfurl like the petals of a rose. **

…

Dusty heels sunk into the upturned soil near the river, the soft sounds of the creak flowing over the leaps of toes and the bending of knees as Natasha Braginski made her escape.

Her mind was already swimming with new information, information that made her once sallow and unfruitful life leap to joy and cunning. She looked up to the sky and sent a kiss over to it's hefty lofts, thanking the Gods for the luck they had bestowed upon her. She had found a way to de-throne the Prince of Finland once and for all.

Or, she thought as she bent down to snatch her leather worked shoes from a patch of heather, at least she had found a crafty way to send him far _far_ away. That, she smiled to herself, was just as good.

Hiking up her skirts to flash her scarred knees from one too many tree climbing sessions, she picked her feet along a small and winding path that the goose boy used to herd his geese to the muddy meadow to dig up worms and grubs.

Hopping over a lame stone, her mind a mess, she began to pant out spurts of breath. She began, with modest intention, replaying all those words of devotion, and caresses of love - and the kisses! She felt her face flush and color. She was only a sixteen year old girl for Gods sakes!

Chastising herself for getting distracted she began to form her plan as she ran, her feet dodging over upturned rocks and dropped pinecones, knowing this path like the back of her hand - and better for it if she wanted to beat the two lovers back to the stable!

It was no secret within her hear that she absolutely, with tooth and spit, despised Tino Väinämöinen.

Oh, it wasn't for some petty servants reason, such as him being cruel or not paying well. No, Tino was fair to her, he always had a kind word to give her even when all she did was sour her face in his presence. When they were young they used to play on reindeer hides while Katyusha gushed and prattled over them, and Ivan, who was a little bit older, watched fondly as his younger - abet frightening sister - and the King and Queens child played tug of war over a stuffed toy horse, their eyes always competitive.

They grew up together, oh sure. Tino taught her how to speak Finnish when all she wanted to do was hit him with a toy soldier and whine at him in Belarusian. Her accent improving with Katyusha's gentle teaching in the wee hours of the day to give her baby sister an education.

Anyone on the outside would have gladly exclaimed that Natasha had a well upbringing. She was always set to play with Tino and Björt while the older kids, who were allowed to play with sticks of birch and with shields made form scraps of dried stiff leather got to roam outside the hall grounds spitting and cussing before they were scolded and called to their servitude in the Kings Grand Halls.

Natasha scowled softly to herself, absently leaping over a fallen log that had been there since as long as she could remember - since the earth was formed from the Goddess and the Golden Duck. Or was it a hawk? She shook her head, finding it of little to no difference now. She pressed on.

Really, she shouldn't hate Tino. The child had grown up sweetly - however troublesome. And she enjoyed his company at times. When he would share his honey cakes with her and the other children, when he would giggle at her stupid jokes about a farmer loosing his pants and sitting on an ant hill, when he would tug at her bow when he wanted her attention. They grew up to be pretty genuine friends - that is, until one day, when she was twelve, she caught her brother talking late at night in the loft, murmuring over the rim of a mead horn quietly to her eldest sister, Katyusha.

"I just do not know what I am to do?"

Natasha, who should have been tucked in bed at the time, had crawled onto the little rickety ladder that heaved up to the loft, her blue eyes that her brother always told her were charming, widened.

"Well, there is not much you _can _do, brother. You certainly cannot tell Prince Tino!" Natshas's sister sounded worrisome, more so then ever. The littlest sibling always teased her eldest about how much of a baby she was for crying at odd moments, but at this moment Natasha didn't have heart to start giggling. Something was wrong, that she could tell.

"I know not to tell him! Do you think I want to get laughed at? Or have a noose round my neck? Da?" Her older brother hissed. Natasha could see by his eyes that he didn't mean to shout, didn't mean to sound so angry. He was usually so careful with his sisters - but tonight was different. Tonight he was bothered.

"Brother, I did not mean it that way. Tino is a good man, he would never laugh, nor would he condemn you to death. But, I beg of you - do not speak a word of this to those who would use it to turn against you! Those people would find a sorry horse to tie your limbs to and let the reins fly!" She did her best to whisper, no doubt to not wake up her baby sister, which, Natasha guiltily thought, was too late.

The little girl with the braided bow in her hair then heard her brother sigh, watching as his shoulders slumped forward.

He dragged the heel of his palm over his eyes to dispel what the little girl found were tears, hot and streaming. She gasped, knowing well for a fact that her brother did not cry. Big brothers never cried - it was against the rules.

"I just wished it wasn't so. I wished I wasn't in this predicament of the heart." He whined over a quiet sob as he let his eldest sister squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

"I know little brother, I know. But you cannot stop these things from happening. The heart aches when the heart aches. The best you can do is store these feelings away - for it will hurt more when time takes it's toll on you. Tino is a Prince, and Princes get married to far off places. I am sorry Ivan, my lovely little brother on my knee, but it is not meant to be." Katyusha whispered to her brothers cheek, kissing the tears away before she held him in her arms, letting him cry out his frustration, his sickness for the heart, his sorrow.

And in that moment, Natasha Braginski, with determination and loathing in her little child-like eyes, decided she would make Tino Väinämöinen rue the day he was ever born for breaking her big brothers heart.

Natasha took a gasp of breath, letting her skirts fall about her as she leaned against a pine tree, it's sharp scent clearing her mind some, making the memories come back to her sharper.

It was also that night in which Natasha decided that she herself would give her heart to her brother. The way that Ivan had sobbed, had, through wet eyes sung Tino's praises, well, it made Natasha fuming that some pompous Prince had ensnared her brother so and didn't even realize his affection for him. It made her blood boil - Ivan was too good for Tino!

She didn't quiet understand it at the time, but she figured she adored her brother and sister, and to see them unhappy quiet broke her heart. So she would marry Ivan herself if he couldn't have the amethyst eyes Prince. It seemed like a sound decision at the time. And she was more than certain that she would make a better bride than the Finn - for she could actually love her brother back.

Rolling her head over the hardness of the pines bark she caught her breath, feeling quite vexed with all these memories swarming around her like horseflies.

But, she thought with the ghosting of a grin - they hadn't come for naught! For now she had something to work with! Like clay to mould and determination up to the sky, Natasha was finally ready to make Tino suffer like she was sure her brother had for all those years. The Prince of Finland, she mused, wouldn't know what hit him.

…

The ponies made a show of tossing their heads to and fro as Tino and Berwald urged them to a trot, seeing the thatched roof of the stables ahead of them, standing tall and proud.

That building had always grown to be a monument for the Swede, who lived in it well until he was six years old. After becoming Tino's Vassal, lady Jaana had insisted that Berwald and his adoptive brothers be given a safe haven inside the walls of the Kingdom, at least until they were older and able to purchase their own cottages and farms.

Berwald smiled thoughtfully as he reined his bay pony to a slow walk. He Ducked his head into the stables behind Tino as the Finn already started whistling a tune as if nothing had happened just a short hour before.

Berwald, contented with his thoughts, suddenly realized how lucky he was. To have a small and cozy cottage to call his own near the walls of the Kings land, to have a job as Vassal when he thought he was destined to die at the ripe old age of ten, and to be - Berwald stuttered, his face coloring - engaged to the Prince of Finland.

Oh yes, today was a very good day to be alive.

"Tino! Berwald! How was your ride, my friends? I hope you didn't push _Maito_ too hard, Tino - you know his legs are knobby! Da?" Ivan's sweet and easy voice greeted the two weary riders with a smile entreating them to grin back, the Russians good mood infectious.

"Of course I didn't push him too hard! He still breathes, doesn't he?" Tino laughed as he led his horse by the reins into a stall that was, besides his parents, the biggest one in the entire building. Berwald had always called that stupid little pony spoiled rotten, but having room enough for three horses was just ridiculous, though he never voiced his opinion on the matter.

"That is good, that is good!" Ivan's smile continued to find Tino's face with charm and glee, his fine violet eyes so much like Tino's.

Berwald shrugged off the looks Ivan always seemed to have ready for Tino, not able to become jealous over such a petty thing. Ivan and him were friends, it'd be a shame for Berwald to ruin that over a few hand caresses and sweet words.

But it wasn't as if Berwald couldn't help to quickly notice how Ivan's hands lingered on Tino's as he took away the sweat soaked bridle by it's throat latch once the Finn had slid if off his horses head, or how the Russians smiles last longer once they were directed towards Tino. But Berwald still could not find that he was jealous, no tin the slightest. Because at the end of the day, he quietly reminded himself in his head, that he will be the one to marry the Finn and take him away from this Gods-awful place. It was a thought that calmed him down for months now, and had helped him get through the many hardships of his life.

"Oh - Berwald! My friend! I must ask - King Mauno suggested that the new chestnut mare should be coupled with the bay stallion later in the month. Do you think you could give me a hand with the siring? I know it's a lot to ask…" Ivan's words were all but friendly as he pleaded with Berwald silently with his eyes.

The Swede, seeing only a little bit of harm at lying, answered with a good-natured shrug.

"Ah don't see why not. Sure." He of course, knew fully well that he would not be here at the stables later in the month, but what Ivan didn't know wouldn't kill him. In fact, he'd probably get a pay raise being one of the only other stable hands that could rival Berwald's skill.

Berwald smiled, patting his horses head as he pulled the grimy and green soaked bit from her mouth, the mare testing her jaws now that they were free.

"Oh thank you, friend! Thank you!" Came the reply that made even Berwald smile faintly.

"'S no trouble." Berwald murmured, dragging a fresh cloth over his horses haunches as she idly began to grope at some hay with her mouth.

After a few more minutes in comfortable silence save for the munching of hay and the scrap of a comb against manes, the silence was brought to an end by the clack of a stall latch being shut.

Berwald turned his head from his work to see Tino, done with drying off the sweat from his mount, and grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, my horse is done," Tino leaned over the faintly dusty wooden bracket that kept Berwald's pony snuggled safe inside, "and it looks like your's is too." Tino mused before he wiped his dirty hands on his pant trousers and made his way out the stable doors without so much as a glance backward, waving to the two horsemen who just shook their head in disbelief.

"He is something, isn't he?" Ivan murmured softly, a smile trying desperately to come over his lips.

Berwald nodded with a smirk of his own. "Oh yes, he certainly is."

…

**I kinda' feel really bad for Natasha - poor girl only wanted to mend her brothers heart. But! As I am sure you know by now I am a cruel person and, as I am sure you are also aware - cruel people tend to like Reviews. SO GIVE 'EM UP! REVIEW, DAMNIT!**


	9. Bones Cracking

**Well, a new chapter, and not too much of a wait, huh? Ain't that amazing! I'd like to thank my translators - **MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**. Thank you so much! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **Enjoy and please review!**

…

It didn't take long for Berwald to catch up to the Prince. The Swede had, before leaving the comfortable and somewhat strenuous memories of the stable, bid farewell to smiling Ivan, retrieved the goods from today's hunting trip, and made his way out into the bright sunshine that smelt sweeter than any rose.

The pheasant's body and feathers swayed limply in the breeze, followed by the light weight of the hare as Berwald trotted over to the Finn who was finishing up with the tune on his lips, his mouth puckered to make the twittering sound.

Berwald smiled and set his strides to match Tino, the two walking in comfortable silence all the way to the back opening of the kitchens, the stone and pine slabs stained black and brown with the cooking hearths fire.

As soon as they dipped their heads under the archway, their noses were pleasantly caressed with the smell of sharp herbs being cut, meat being soaked and boiled in fat cauldrons and the dainty scent of butter being cut into slabs and wrapped nicely in willow husks.

Tino smiled back at Berwald as he grabbed at the dead rabbit hanging from the rope at it's feet.

Then, with a smile bigger than the crescent moon, Tino spotted the sight of his mother, Lady Jaana, rolling her palm against a few springs of herbs, bruising them to get as much flavor as she could before they were thrown into the bubbling cauldron of lamb at her left.

"Mother! We come bearing gifts of plenty!" Tino laughed, holding up the dead brown rabbit, Berwald as well showing off the colorful body of the pheasant, the tail feathers something to marvel at.

At the laughter filled voice that rang around the room, Lady Jaana and Lady Elizabeta looked from their work to gaze with smiles on their faces at the two boys who indeed, came bringing gifts.

But, it was then that Lady Jaana, with motherly eyes so quick, took in the sight of her son, all muddied and disheveled, twigs sticking out from his hair in odd places.

"Tino! Look at you - your tunic is a mess - oh! And you have burs in your hair!" Her aghast voice chided the younger boy, his smile wavering some, having the decency to have grown sheepish.

Lady Jaana, with a annoyed huff, wiped her green soaked hands on her broached apron and made her way to her son, greeting Berwald with a kind look in her eye before she took the cheeky Finn by his ears, making Tino gas with pain.

"Ow! _Mother!_" He huffed as she pulled him on his way, Berwald collecting the hare from Tino's fumbling fingers to set it to rest on the low set work table where he took his seat, a smile etched on his face as he watched the Finn being led to a low lipped bucket that was quickly filled with hot water by the hearth.

Tino could only grumble as his tunic sleeves were rolled up and his elbows dunked into the warm water, his mother lathering her hands with lye soap before scrubbing his skin till it grew red. His pout could only resemble that of a child and it made Berwald chuckle.

"And look at you, handsome rascal!" Elizabeta's voice grinned at Berwald, her hands working at wringing a fresh cloth into some water, dabbing it on Berwald's mud flecked face from when he had raced Tino to the meadows. His face colored with embarrassment.

"Sorry, M'lady - It's M' fault." Berwald nodded his head to the floor, his brows creasing as the cold cloth was wiped across his neck to get at a pesky patch of dirt.

Elizabeta only chuckled and, deeming the Swede presentable enough, threw the cloth in the pale to soak. .

From her place near the herb rack, Lady Jaana laughed smoothly, her voice like the tinkering of bells.

"Never you mind whose fault it is - If anything Tino probably bested you and ran away from your gentle care. I know my Tino, always a trouble maker." She sighed with the undercurrents of contentment, her fingers coming up to the Finn's cheeks to pinch his face.

He swatted at her affectionately, blusing at his mothers words, whining slightly as Berwald chuckled, hands still clasped neatly behind his back like a good Vassal should. Nice and polite.

"Now, why don't you boys clean the dirt from under your nails and pluck and skin your catch." The Queen spoke, gesturing her slender hands at the two animals that laid soft and cold on the tables.

Tino nodded determinately, snatching at the hare with quick fingers as he set himself on the stool opposite Berwald.

Berwald too got to work, ignoring the fine feathers at the bids head to delicately pluck at the long and colorful tail feathers, setting each one aside to be later collected to make a ornamentation of sorts or later - whatever Lady Jaana and Lady Elizabeta decided to do with them.

Tino then began to skin the rabbit, making neat little slices here and there with a silvered meat knife, the edge decorated by a hare. After the slitting was done and his fingers were dipped nicely in red, the Finn grabbed the cute little thing by it's legs and pulled, the skin toughening and peeling off to leave a red stained pelt.

The smell was horrendous, but Tino only winced as he held the hide up, soon handing it to a pretty servant girl with the loveliest of complexions. He smiled quickly, easily at her as her small fingers took the pelt to be stiffened and stretched. Her face erupted into the shade of pink like that of a sunset as her fingers brushed against Tino's own. She left in a hurry, her eyes glassy and flushed.

Tino grinned with amusement, his eyes catching Berwald watching him over the soft little display. Tino smile widened, his lips mouthing the word, "Jealous?" to the Swede.

Berwald rolled his eyes and quickly went back to plucking, shaking his head at the Finn who had yet to stop smiling. Berwald let out a huffed sigh, wondering how his love interest could be this brash and irritable. Only he would go for the charming spit-fire type, he brooded.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, only the hissing of cauldrons and the shaking of dried herbs heard, the soft patter of feet greeted the stone mason kitchen, and Katyusha, armed with a little stub of a candle and a basket of blackberries, greeted them with a quiet _hello_.

Grabbing her skirts in her hands and bowing her head to the floor she addressed the Queen and Prince, her basket tipping some, a few blackberries falling to the floor.

Her eyes widen as she quickly bends to pick them up, muttering apologies as the little fruits start to stain the floor red from where the fell.

Lady Jaana only smiles and helps pick up the berries, ushering the girl to stand, telling her once more that, if the King and nobles are not around, she need not bend her head. Lady Jaana remembered Katyusha all those years ago, when the Ukrainian girl was just a baby wrapped in blankets - the Queen practically thought of her as her daughter. And daughters need not bow before their mothers in comfortable settings.

"And you shall no longer call me Prince! It sounds too stuffy - Tino will do!" The Finn smiled to the elder girl who had long ago blossomed into a woman, her hair still kept in braids at her head to make her hair look short, a ribbon dyed with indigo atop her corn silk locks.

She nodded to the Finn, blushing.

" You are too generous to an old women." She mumbled with a shy smile, setting her basket down on the work table.

"Ah, Katyusha, take compliments when they are given! You are only thirty four, a spinster maybe, but you could still find a husband on Kupalets night!"* He kindly told her, making her pretty cheeks blush even more as she mumbled something under her breath sweetly in Ukrainian.

After Tino is apparently done with his sweet talking, Kayusha takes her seat net to Berwald and busied herself with weeding out any left over stems or leaves on the plump and blackened berries, her fingers mindful of the thorns prick.

"All this talk of marriage reminds me! Tino, have you and your father discussed the proposition of a bride? I hear the Gaulish King of the Northern city state has three lovely daughters. Both ripe for child bearing, with peach faces and the most loveliest of red hair." Tino's mother smiled at her child, her hands coming up to her brow to wipe away the sweat caused by the hot cauldron at her attending.

Tino frowned for only a second before he collected himself, sitting up straighter on the three legged stool.

"Aye, I have talked to father about those triplets. Though I prefer blonde hair on my maidens, with pretty eyes the color of Eastern Jade, and a grim dog face that will scare me in the morning." Tino spoke simply, hiding a giggle in his throat that dared to erupt.

Berwald swiftly kicked him under the table.

Lady Jaana the had the graces to look taken a back for a bit, confused by her sons words. But, at looking at the Finn's face to see that he is completely serious with his requests, she sighed and went back to tying herb sachets for flavoring stews - setting some off to the side to be stored for winter when the wild Finnish herbs were scarce in the snow.

"Well...What about the Danish Princess - Lady Kerstin?" Lady Jaana tried again, raising her brows in question.

"Danes are insufferable." Tino mumbled, sliding his cooking knife into the stomach of the rabbit, the guts spilling outward like a dam's waters breaking through. He sets his knife to work once again, scraping the insides out to be dealt with later by his mothers capable hands.

Lady Jaana sighed once more as she handed a readied basket of sachets to Elizabeta who smiled at her with knowing. Only Tino could be this stubborn.

"Alright. You want a wife with blonde hair, green eyes-"

"Jade." Tino corrected her as he moved to now quarter the hare, getting whatever meat he could off and into an iron cooking pot to either be stewed or boiled. Either way it made his stomach aching for the final product, having a special place in his heart for the wild taste of rabbit.

"Ah. Alright. Jade." Lady Jaana murmured out exasperatedly her palms on the edge of the stone work platform as she brushed the unwanted stems from the herbs to collect on the straw covered floor. The dogs sniffed eagerly at the plants, until, realizing it was not meat, they scurried on their way under the tables to await for scraps.

"Don't forget the dog-face." Tino piped up suddenly, grinning from ear to ear.

Berwald kicked him silently again, this time in the shin.

Tino only smirked back, his tongue peeking out.

"Now why on earth would you want a wife with a dog face!" Elizabeta quipped back at him, knowing that the Queen was kind enough to not ban her servants from speaking like many other Ladies did. Lady Jaana was kind in that respect, in fact, in many respects.

"Because…" Tino drawled out, as if it was the most obvious of things.

"Then I will always be fed." He stated with a knowing nod.

Everyone in the room paused what they were doing to stare at the Prince, their eyes confused beyond belief. Even Berwald had no clue where the Finn was going with his words.

"What do you mean 'you will always be fed'?" Katyuha finally timidly asked, hr hands still reverently working to sift through the berries, her fingers and palms stained by their juices.

Tino sighed dramatically, waving the knife in the air as he did.

"Because if she has a dogs face then she's' bound to have a dogs bite, and if she has a dogs bite then she's bound to have a dogs temperament, and if she has a dogs temperament then she's bound to be good use when I leave her outside for the night and she presents me with an elk's neck in her teeth in the morning." Finnish lips molded into a shit eating grin.

Lady Jaana rolled her eyes, not believing that this was her sweet little boy who used to cower at her skirts when the lightning struck in the night.

"You are incorrigible." She laughed, shaking her head as she busied herself with stirring the cauldron as it boiled on top of the grey coals.

"Thank you, mother." Tino laughed as well, his eyes shining with mirth.

"What is so funny?" Came a sudden voice from the top of the stairs, a voice that silently shook them all to quietness, the easement from before gone as if it was chased out of the door by a pack of hungry hounds.

Tino swallowed thickly, the laughter dying in his throat.

Atop the stairs stood his father, dressed nicely enough, with a robe dyed blue and a crown of gold, harvested jewels decorated along it's edges. Purple Amethyst, shapely pearls, and golden amber.

"Nothing." Tino whispered, his voice becoming hoarse as he stared at the magnificent of his father. His stomach began to knot it's self, the Finn feeling sick.

"Nothing? Why, my son and wife are splitting sides inside a smoky kitchen - it must be good fun to have you smiling over a rabbits carcass." The King made his way downward, from the rickety stairs to the stone flooring that was littered with hay and unwanted parts from flowers and herbs.

King Mauno eyed his son carefully, tying to place his own smile on his face but failing miserably.

Tino shrugged his shoulders, now deciding he was done with the meat that he had silvered and paled into the bowl at the crook of his arm.

He began to break the fine little bones of the rabbit to be ground into a paste later for use - perhaps to feed the dogs, or to add flavoring and fatness to a pie. Berwald just kept on plucking away at the bird that was now almost naked, it's flesh bumpy and pale pink. The Swede realizing since the King first showed himself in the kitchen that silence was the best way to stay on the Monarchs good side.

"We were merely discussing Tino's candidates for Brides, my king." Lady Jaana spoke, doing her best to hide her bitterness that desperately wanted to flare against her cheeks. Both her and Tino were still not able to forgive King Mauno after twenty years, and they never thought they could. Each one had made a silent pack to never forget what happened on that December night.

"Ah! Is that so? Then, have you decided upon a bride my son? One of the Gualish triplets?" He grinned, rubbing his hands together before he took a blackberry from the basket in front of Katyusha, popping it in his mouth. A bit of purple juice dribbled down the crevice of his lips.

Tino was about to sneer that, yes, he had found a bride, and that bride was sitting right next him plucking feathers off the ass of a pheasant when his mother cleared her throat, sensing the tension about to erupt.

"He has no interest in those ladies, My Lord. He fancies a woman with blonde hair, jade eyes, and a dog-face." Lady Jaana spoke without even a hint of laughter in her throat, her eyes never leaving the small twine wrapped bundle of angelica. Her serious face however, made the situation all the more hilarious - the servants that dotted around the fires hearth covering their mouths to keep from laughing and having themselves thrown in the stalks.

King Mauno scowled.

"Now, I'll have no more of your games, boy. Pick a bride within the fortnight or I will pick one for you!" He barked. Tino didn't even flinch.

Yet when the amethyst eyed Finn did not answer the Kings voice right away, Mauno began to grow red faces and testy.

Looking to his sons hands which were bloody and flecked with sticky rabbit guts, slightly all the more warm, the king watched Tino's fingers idly working the backbone of the creature into seconds, thirds, and fourths.

_Crack, Crack, Crack. _

King Mauno sneered at the corpse of the animal, it's misshapen shape looking even more grotesque with it's skull ripped off.

"And what are you doing? Rooting around the guts of a rabbit - that's servants work!" He growled, scrunching up his nose at the stench of hot blood and intestines.

Tino didn't look up.

"No, Father. It's not servants work - it's just work." He said smoothly, coldly.

The Kings eyes glared down at his son, his neck flushing crimson.

"How dare you give me lip! You know what I meant!" The King thundered, his teeth gnashing.

Berwald took a calming breath through his nose, keeping his hands steady as they worked at the birds neck with a knife to chop if off, setting the thing on the wooden tables surface for the easiest cut. Nice and clean.

Tino looked up at his father with the beginnings of a glare, his fingers now twisting at the rabbits carcass, splattering blood everywhere on the table without care. Katyusha screamed with shock as her sleeves were wetted with a few thick drops of blood.

"Oh, be quiet girl! It's just guts!" The King snapped at her, quieting her.

She rolled her tongue behind her teeth, down casting her eyes away from the King.

"Mauno..." Lady Jaana was about to protest when the King swiftly turned his bitter and enraged face to her.

"Do you see what he's been reared into? He has no class, no tact! Always coughing at engagements, drinking rose wine and riding horses near to death! He is worthless! And it's all that boys fault," The King pointed to Berwald, "I should have never let that ruffian Swede in my sons presence."

"He has a name, father!" Tino snapped suddenly, making Berwald swallow thickly in his throat.

"I do not care if he has a thousand names! He is a horrible influence!" King Mauno stormed right back at his son.

At his fathers outburst Tino sat up hastily from the table, the stool clacking to the floor at the force of his movements.

Tino's breathing became shallow at his next words, his lungs paining him some from their struggle to draw breath.

"Is it not the father who has the most influence over his child? If so, then take a look at me father - I mirror you in everyway. Tactless, Classless - Worthless." Tino scowled, his eyes meeting his old mans with fury, like that of a wild horse intent on smashing it's riders skull.

All at once the Kings face turned venomous and his arm, weighed down by heavy cloth, pulled itself back to smack his hand into Tino's face.

The Finn yelped, the force making him stumble backward, the bruise and angry red blossoming on his skin below his eye. Tino cupping his cheek gingerly, his eyes wet now.

At the sound of the hit Berwald immediately scraped his chair backward, lurching forward to attend to the Finn - attesting the damage with careful fingers and sweetened words. Tino tried desperately to hold back his tears.

"Get out of my sight! The both of you." Roared King Mauno, his eyes dangerously threatening as his hand raised again, balled into a fist. He shook it at his sons face in a gesture of promising violence. Somewhere next to Tino Katyusha wailed like a child caught in a storm.

Wordlessly, Lady Jaana whispered and muttered for Katyusha to take Tino to his room to press a compressor of yarrow flowers to his face to stop the bruising.

Wrapping her hand around the Finn' shoulders, she pushed him to the direction of the stairs where the Ukrainian woman led him with her hand to the wooden steps, tears trailing down her face, her voice shaking with sobs.

Then, the Queen turned to Berwald, whose hands were shaking with hidden rage at the King.

Pressing her cool hands to the Swede's redden cheek, she whispered soothingly to him to go to her garden to pick some roses, the big sweet red ones that grow near the yellow broom.

"Tino will like to have some fresh flowers by his bedside…" She assures him as she sets him on his way, a pat on his back to calm him down while she silently makes her way to her fuming King to calm him down next.

Berwald does as he is told, deciding that snapping a few heads of the Finnish roses will be violet enough to release his aggression.

Yet, the Swede, before he made his way to the garden, softly looked to Tino as the Finn was being led up the stairs, eyes glossy and wet with tears, but a brave smile still on his lips.

Berwald's heart breaks at that face, at the tender bruise on his cheek that has now turned a plum purple, Berwald knowing full well that Tino's skin will hurt for days.

But, those amethyst eyes catch his again, and before the Swede could realize it, Tino began to stare down at him with a soft smile.

"_Tonight._"Is all the Finn mouths with hope in his eyes before he then allowed himself to be led away to his chambers and Berwald to the rose garden where the wild roses bloomed.

…

**Wow. King Mauno is a Dick! Please Review! It makes me oh-so-happy, and keeps the Dolphins away!**

…

**Authors Notes:**

-"Ah, Katyusha, take compliments when they are given! You are only thirty four, a spinster maybe, but you could still find a husband on Kupalets night!"* **- "Kupalets" is a Pagan Slavic Holiday in June that honors the Water-Mother, Kupala. Eligible women looking for a husband would place wreaths of flowers on their hair and set off flowers into the river in honor of the "Little-Water-Mother".**


	10. Musings on a Life Anew

**Welcome to chapter 10 of, Promise Me Wild Roses! I'd like to thank my lovely, forever lovely translators - **MalinChan, yotzie, Ruusu, kooliobutterflyhahaha, Sine-k, Another Mad Swiss, Lillens, DianeLeBlanc99**, and **Sarai Onyx Vainamoinen**. Thank you so very much! **I do not own Hetalia but I do own this story! **Please enjoy this chapter and review, it makes my heart all flutter!**

…

Natasha ran breathless into the stable, her feet patched with mud and bruises from the marshy saw grass, the cuts on the arches of her feet twanging in pain as she slid over the yellowed straw of the building.

With breath still stuttering from her lungs, she slammed her limbs against one of the royal stalls, the impact causing her to wince, but not by much. With fingers heaving her body up to look over the wooden divider, her eyes widened and then waned, anger bubbling hot against her face as if pokers had been brought to her eyes.

Tino's fat and lazy pony stared back at her with a doe browned gaze, lips stained green with alfalfa that stuck out between his yellowed teeth.

His coat was gleamed a thick silver as the dappled spots on his rump shone snow white. His mane had been cleaned of brambles and tangles and sweat no longer drenched his neck nor flanks. All evidence of the animals strenuous ride was erased.

Natasha growled despite herself, looking at the pony with a steely stare that only made him flick his ears back and forth and turn himself away from her, his hindquarters her only view now. Even the Finns pony was mocking her!

She huffed with annoyance at the beast, finding quite miserably that the Finn and Swede's horses were already groomed and cared for. Lips all smacking hay into their mouths and cheeks as they snorted with ease. Where was the Prince and his Vassal to be found now?!

Feeling defeated that she was beaten all the way here even though she took special care to bound her feet through short cuts over willow shrubs and creeks brimmed with snow water, she leaned against the wooden pole of the stable, content to sulk. The beam of the heavy tree trunk kept her standing somewhat tall and proud when inside she wished to crumble to the floor, ungracefully accepting her defeat.

"They out ran me, so quickly…" She mumbled sorely, wiping her face of sweat with her palms that were red with heat and pain. Small slivers of splinters were evident against her paled skin that was rough from always washing and cleaning her siblings clothes with the greasy lye soap. She bit her lip in barely contained rage.

"Who outran you?" Peeped a smiling reply that had Natasha' head turning and her lips curing into a sweetened smile. Ivan showed himself behind one of the Kings carriage horses who stood a bit wobbly on his legs, Natasha catching the strain he was placing on his left back foot, the hock stunted some.

Ivan patted the beast lovingly under the animals eyes, humming with delight at the horses well behaved temperament. Though the horse was supposedly destined to go to slaughter, after Ivan administered some brewed yarrow to the horses leg to discourage swelling, the horse was slowly clamoring back to health. Though the creature would be lamed for several days from the bruising hit that a tree branch took to his leg, Ivan was confident that with his care, the animal would be settled back into his old routine. Ivan did so hate when the horses were put to death due to misfortune. Mauno could be inexplicably cruel in those cases.

"Prince Tino and Berwald is what ails me…" She scathed softly, not being able to hide her anger even from her brother whom she wished to not injure with her words if she could help it.

Ivan furrowed his brow at his sisters dreadful face, wiping his hands clean with a rag before he hung it to dry along a hitching post. Leading the brilliant coated horse by a crude makeshift halter, he tucked the animal tenderly inside a free stall. Turning back to his sister, he greeted her frown with a smile.

"Yes, they came in just not too long ago - why are you so distraught?"

Natasha lowered her gaze then before she dared to look at her brothers expectant face - for she had a heavy blow to deliver and she would be lying if she did not take pleasure in gifting it.

"I have great news brother, news that means the world to me!" She admitted, crushing her skirts in her hands as she fidgeted like a small girl in swaddles.

"Oh? Then let us hear this news, da?" Ivan asked, a soft smile on his face for his baby sister, happy that she had found something to make her smile. Natasha needed more reasons to grin and giggle.

"Prince Tino is an adulterer to his future bride to be." She hummed with satisfaction and finality, watching her brothers eyes widen and his breath stutter in his throat.

"_What?_"He hissed, not believing what he was hearing. Of all the lies to be told to his ears? And from his younger sister no less!

"Berwald and Tino, they are planning to be engaged - to elope!" She squealed, her hands clasping together in front of her with joy. Oh she was quite certain this was one of the greatest and best moments of her life!

Ivan, the pure shock on his face never melting, grabbed his sister by the shoulders and gently squeezed with urgency. His sister fidgeted only slightly in his hold, not liking his reaction to her grand news at all. His fingers hurt her some and she whined in frightened pain.

"How do you know this, Natasha?! If you are lying, then this is a cruel joke! Lives could be at stake for this kind of slander!" He warned with desperation, Natasha shrugging out of her brothers grip, smile wavering only some.

"My tongue is not false! My words are true! They were by the meadow when I heard everything - declarations of love, embracing - brother, they _kissed_ each other!" Her face then became hued in red at her own girlish embarrassment of accounting for what she had saw not but a few hours before. My how in love they looked, like two turtle doves swooning over each other in peaking delight.

Ivan's face turned a flushed kind of pink before he drew breath once again into his lungs and squared his chest, pulling at his tunic collar in nervousness. His grip on his linen shirt did not lesson much as he held on for dear life as if he wished to choke himself to death right then and there.

"Natasha, I believe you." Ivan started to say, causing his sister to hum with unfettered delight.

"But," Ivan held his sisters hands gently by the slimness of her wrists, "You mustn't tell anyone about this, about what you saw and what you heard." He pleaded. His sisters face became crestfallen as her brows furrowed in puzzlement at his words that spoke of great sorrow.

"But brother, this is a chance at revenge - of righting and mending a broken heart! Are you not feeling angry and betrayed by the Finn? By the Prince who had stolen your affection long ago? The one you pine after is in love with another!" She huffed, glaring at her brother through her snow white lashes, watching the color in his face slowly draining.

Ivan shut his eyes tight and tensed his jaw, breathing in and out through his nose. He smelled swamp mud, sweat, and manure - that and the tingeing coppery scent of sadness. He reopened his eyes to stare sternly at his younger sister who he loved dearly, but knew would cause him great trouble if she could, as in the wrong she terribly was.

"Natasha, we do not speak of this again - we never utter a word about my likeness for the Prince or his likeness for the Swede." His voice took on the tone of grave warning, his eyes staring his little sisters down till she flickered her gaze away from him. She was only but a child anyway - one could not expect her to remain strong when Ivan plastered his stern look upon his face.

"But _brother!_" Natasha whined. She was about to insist upon him hearing her words and explanations but he shook his head forcibly and sighed with a clipped _tut_ of breath.

"Natasha, I knew long ago that I would never be able to hold Tino's hand in marriage, and yes, that thought has crushed over me like an oceans wave." He kept his eyes sharp on his sisters then, his pretty perfect teeth baring out the next words with contained anger.

"Yet no matter how much hurt I feel, I will not be the one to send my friend Berwald to the gallows and Prince Tino to a faraway land to wed a woman he does not love. I will not have them torn apart because of my bitterness." He let go of his stunned sister, smoothing his hand over his hair in a nervous gesture. It did nothing to soften the blow of his words.

Natasha snarled at him, red in the face.

"You still love him?!" She barked out, causing the horses to swish their tails and kick at the wood of their stalls.

Ivan nodded softly, eyes somber and childlike again in the face of his sister whom always had a temper as hot as a wildfire. One that could not be contained by anyone, even by him.

"If I shall get no help from you, then I shall remedy the situation myself!" She lashed out at him, turning on her heels to throw the stable doors back in a great clatter, How dare her brother refuse her when she was only trying to help him! How dare he!

As her hands clutched the latch of the door, she paused, hearing the horses tossing their heads before her in fright at her sudden outburst.

"Natasha," Ivan called out for her softly, in his voice that sounded so much like a merry sparrow. Only now it was muddled with something sadder, something tarnished and not at all bright.

"Whatever you are scheming - please, don't." He begged with pleading violet eyes that Natasha had come to love since she was a little girl tugging at his smooth pleasing hair as she was cradled to his lap.

Natasha could only smile wickedly now.

"Dear Brother, I do not scheme - I entreat myself to victory." She hummed with sinister delight. Then out the doors she disappeared, making great haste to the back entrance of the grand hall where she would place her plan in motion.

She would succeed even if it killed her.

…

"It is not fair!" Tino shouted with rage as he slammed his fist against the heavily decorated door of his bedroom, resulting in his breath stuttering in his lungs as he began to dwell into another coughing fit.

Katyusha instantly came to his side, worrying about him like a hen all a flutter as she rapped softly at his back and urged him to drain a cup of rose wine - his personal bed chambers having their own little cedar chest filled with three bottles - all made out of expensive glass shipped from Norway.

With soothing words and a voice as soft as Chinese silk, the Ukrainian woman had coaxed Tino to sit himself down on a stool where he rested his weary body.

After the Finn had drunk his fill of the sweetened wine that left an aftertaste of tartness, he stilled himself upon his seat, cushioned with artic fox fur - silver and white from the season it was killed in.

"My dear baby boy, do not cry - do not fuss." Katyusha cooed to the Finn as she combed her fingers through his soft hair. He calmed some at the touch, yet his eyes were still red rimmed and his breath was still soured from his coughing fit. Only the thin line of his lips remained bitter and coarse.

"But it is not fair! He has no respect for me, no kind words, no love! Nothing!" He mourned, his voice a wisp, the candles flicker emitting more of a noise than he. He felt weightless and even more pained for it, as if he no longer had the will to sit up straight let alone go about his tormented days.

Katyusha made a quiet noise of lament before she helped to unbutton the top of the Finn's tunic. Carefully her fingers mended the thread and relaxed the ties so the Prince would find it easier to breathe, lest his troubles over suffocate him.

Tino's own fingers came to his neck to complete the rest of the ties while the Ukrainian herself set out a wash bin for him to clean his face of rage and blood.

"If I had the courage, I would leave this instant - on a strong horse with laurels of wild roses, my arms wrapped around him - we could leave, I know we could."

Katyusha's face burned a crisp red from the Prince's words, her hands soothing over his throat to take the tunic from the Finnish mans hands. After tucking the soiled one into a wicker basket to be tended to later, she graced him with a fresh and crisp white one that smelled bitterly of lye soap.

"You father would be furious - his only son running away with the stable hand, and a Swede no less." She mumbled softly, a soft huff in her voice that Tino honed in on. It was well known that Katyusha hated his father almost as much as he.

"I care not what my father thinks - the Gods have sanctified my meeting with Berwald those long years ago. Since I was a child I wished to be joined and wed with only him. It would be an insult to the Gods and the spirits of the woods if I did not wed him!"

Katyusha clucked her tongue softly at the boy that she knew since he was a baby, that she had helped nurse and bring into this world. My, what a horrible world he had been reared in, yet such a fine man he had grown up to be. Of course a beautiful rose must grow it's thorns to live in harsh soil…

"Then why not join your lover on a midnight ride - travel all the way down south - take a boat to far off lands, Turkey, Denmark, _Hungary._"came an amused voice from the door, Elizabeta's eyes happy with mirth as she gazed upon the Prince of Finland.

Tino spooked, eyes widening as he fixed his gaze to the opened door.

He swallowed deep in his throat, scared that his plans, so secretive that only a select few knew, would be ruined by perchance of ears.

"Oh, do not sour your face at me boy!" She laughed, walking into the room and softly shutting the door behind her. "I will not tell, fettered my tongue is." She swiped her olive skinned fingers over her lips in a mocking gesture of secrecy.

Tino smiled graciously back at his old wet-nurse, the Hungarian woman hastily hugging the Finn to her chest as she kissed the crown of his head.

"But a choice of love you must make..." She muttered against his hair as she pulled back, her eyes serious.

Tino looked down at his hands in his lap, sickly things, sallow things. No courage in his body to complete such a task, a task he had been dreaming about, planning about, for so very long.

"_And if Herr Oxenstierna has won your heart, from me and your home you must depart." _She squeezed his shoulders lovingly as the Finn nodded, his eyes set with determination.

"Tonight you must go with your lover, or at least in early morn. For your father will soon be pestering you with more marriage proposals in the next few days, stubborn he is." Elizabeta spoke, grabbing at a lovely velvet red sack, stuffing into it a few days worth of clothes as Katyusha, happy at the turn of events beyond belief, began to wept for joy, mumbling about a wedding, a romantic ending for lovers.

Onward they filled the knapsack full, bustled with three bottles of wine and a small cloth bag tied with candied roses for the trip should Tino need something stronger if his coughing acted up vehemently.

However, silently on the other side of the door stood Natasha, busying herself with tying her boots about her wrapped feet, leaning against the door and hearing ever wee bit that the busy handmaidens and the Prince went on about.

She smiled happily at her wickedly good luck.

"Oh - I have found love in the color of Jade eyes and the smile of a boar!" Tino giggled as he tied his knapsack closed with a bit of twine, the bag set under his bed to be hidden until the time was right and perfect - deep into the darkness of early morn when even the guards would be drowsy with sleep.

Yet no one heard the soft squeak of the door as it was turned open, the shy and pale face of Natasha peeking through, that is, until the often loud girl spoke.

"Am I interrupting?" She mumbled, knowing all too well what they were discussing.

Tino whirled his head around him with a start, eyes fixed wide upon Kaytusha's sister before the Ukrainian woman fretted and pulled her sister in by her arms, setting her on the small three legged stool nearest the Finns bedding chest.

"Oh my dear baby sister, what secrets you have just heard…" She worried her lip, gazing down at Natasha who only furrowed her brow in a guise - a curled smile set behind her lips that only she could see.

"Of the Prince and his moment to elope?" She whisperer quite sweetly, quite convincingly.

Tino swallowed harshly, getting ready to expel his childhood friend from his room with haste - yet Natasha turned quietly to him and smiled wonderfully, brightly.

She bundled her hands in her skirts and bowed low to the floor so that the tips of her nappy yet shiny hair dotted the floor silvery blonde.

Then, upon raising her head, she grinned just like an innocent young girl should.

"Why, my Prince, _my future King _- I am delighted! True love comes only once in a lifetime - and to think you have found yours so soon! Why, I am truly happy for you and I wish you well in your endeavors."

With those words that could melt even the most fear stricken of hearts, Tino's worried glance softened over, his parted lips melted into a smile son sincere it nearly made Natasha gag.

With one fell swoop, the Finn clutched at Natasha boldly, hugging her to him.

"Oh I am so relieved and so happy to find a friend in you Natasha, and at such a crucial point!" He hummed into her shoulders, Natasha resisting the urge to bolt and retch all upon the floor with twisted disgust.

"I will do anything for you, my Prince! You only need to tell me what, and I shall take up the task with honor." She mused, watching the Finn pull back and threaten to burst with mirth. It should not delight her so that his pain caused her contentedness, but she felt nothing else could wrack her with happiness.

"Such a friend you are - well, then I shall tell you! I am after the hand of Herr Oxenstierna!" He declared with courage, Natasha doing her best to feign surprise.

"Oh my! A match made by the Gods I am sure. Now, what is it I can do for you?" She asked, smoothing her skirt about her waist and clasping her hands at her lap. A pedestal of goodwill.

Tino pressed his lips together in thought before he joined Katyusha on the foot of the bed, the Ukrainian picking at her fingers lightly as she smiled at her young charge. Such a fine and helpful girl Natasha had become, thought the Ukrainian. A fine girl indeed.

"Well…" The Finn started to murmur before there was a knock at the door and, with very little warning, Queen led herself into the room, a tired smile deepening on her face. In an instant, as if touched by fire, Katyusha retreated from the bed to the corner of the room as was permitted of a servant of her rank.

Lady Jaana thought nothing of the odd behavior, musing at her servants wiles.

"Tino - here are the lovely bouquet of roses I have promised - though I see I have come at a rather hectic time…" The Queen gazed chastising upon the many faces in the Princes room before she smiled softly, and easement coming over her features. It was almost fond.

"It is so nice of you to check on Tino's well being, I only hope that he has not thrown a tremendous fit…" The Queen laughed only half-heartedly before she set the big vase of flowers on the dresser. The milky white vase stained the dresser with water, the flowers perfuming the room most sweetly.

"Mother, are those the flowers Berwald picked?" Tino hummed, rising to sniff the darkened petals of the wiry roses, heavy with blossom and hip.

"Yes my dear - quite good with the roses that boy is!" She confessed with exasperation, petting her son fondly on the hair. Tino, not wishing to foul the mood, allowed his mothers hands to caress him lovingly, though a child at his mothers skirts he protested to never being.

"Hmmm, yes, he is, isn't he." Tino murmured, his fingers coming to caress a dew drop caught in the lip of a particularly stunning yellowed rose.

"Now, Tino - I had wished to talk about your marriage arrangements, I do not wish to pressure you, but with your fathers temper…"

"There is no need mother, I have chosen. One of the Gualish twins will do." The Finnish Prince painfully murmured before picking out a white and red splayed flower - Berwald knowing quiet well that they were one of his favorites. My how he loved that man.

"Oh? What happened to the jade eyed dog faced dog?" His mother asked, brushing the hair out of her sons face, her words almost cooing - not mocking, but not too supportive none the less.

"I have received a vision from the Gods - in which I have seen my true love near the thorns of a wild rose bush. My true love had hair of spun copper and eyes of green. Therefore one of the Gualish sisters with red hair and green eyes shall do." Tino lied softly, stoking the petal of the rose between the fingers till the flesh of the flower cracked and wilted. He let it fall to the floor absently.

"Well this is quite wonderful my son - I shall have a daughter and many grandchildren." She exclaimed softly before kissing Tino upon the brow. Her lips were cool and cast into a slight frown, as if she knew Tino was suffering from an ailment of the heart.

"As long as you are happy my dear boy." She murmured softly as she pulled away.

Tino nodded, hating the fact that he was lying to his mother, the only member of his kin that he ever loved unfettered.

"However, since you have had such a vision from the Gods, I warn you to keep your virtue from harm. Let nothing stray you from your true love." The Queen spoke lovingly before her eyes strayed to the women in the room, teasing warning in her gaze.

"_As a Queen should, all my maidens I warn to keep their honor from harm._"She huffed with a teasing smile before, at long last, she held her skirts about her and exited the room with dignity and grace, unawares of the plot that had been hatched underneath her nose.

As the doors closed with his mothers departure, Tino sighed and sunk into the furs of his bed, petals at his lips as he drunk in the heady scent of roses, his next move of his plan stunted in his throat.

Feeling the closeness of their deeds almost revealed, Elizabeta sighed, displeased with her Princes lying, but not having the very heart to cause more trouble for the heart-stricken Royal.

"What will you do now?" Katyusha whispered meekly, her voice seeming to echo in the chilled room.

Tino closed his eyes lightly before wailing abruptly, like a horrid rooster greeting the sun at dawn.

"_Oh had I a trusty friend and true - to carry word to Herr Oxenstierna now!_"He moaned. He felt the urge and the itch to leap up from his feet and un away more than ever! His new life awaited him outside the heavy oaken doors of the palace, and yet grieving and cowardly he sat in the throes of his bed, unable to move a stitch. His new life it seemed, was snuffed out before it even began.

However…_Then falsest maid was quick to speak_.

"_I am the messenger you seek._"

…

**Holy Hell this chapter took forever to freaking write. I wouldn't be surprised if you people hated me yet. Well, at least it's here now! Please Review and I'll try to make the next installment a quick one! I love you, lovelies! **

…

**Authors Note:**

Usually, if a phrase is italicized in this fic, it means it's a lyric from the song on which this fic is based~!


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